


Inkstrokes (before they disappear)

by Wings2fly



Series: Mulan AU [1]
Category: Mulan (1998), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Battle, Bottom Kim Taehyung | V, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Historical AU, Historically Inaccurate, Hoseok is Mushu, Inspired by Mulan (1998), Jeon Jungkook is Older Than Kim Taehyung | V, Jeon Jungkook is Whipped, Kim Taehyung | V is a Sweetheart, Lonely Kim Taehyung, M/M, Mulan AU, Mutual Pining, Namjoon gets like three mentions I’m sorry joonie, Oral Sex, Park Jimin (BTS) is a Little Shit, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Superstition, Top Jeon Jungkook, side yoonmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 82,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wings2fly/pseuds/Wings2fly
Summary: Kim Taehyung has a curse of sorts. Some might go as far as to say that he himself is a curse, making him an outcast from society. When war threatens his country and his family’s honor comes into question, he must disguise his true nature to save his crippled father from military service. He doesn’t anticipate falling in love with someone unexpected, an officer who knows nothing of his supposed curse... until it can’t be hidden any longer.Or, Mulan AU where Taehyung is Mulan.
Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V, Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin
Series: Mulan AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857463
Comments: 229
Kudos: 1007
Collections: In Bloom, stories i can’t lose





	1. Arcane

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [kookvday4](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/kookvday4) collection. 



> I want to thank my amazing beta, the prompter, and In Bloom for everything that has contributed to this story. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
>   
> Say hi to me on twitter! @vkdawntae  
>  **Prompt:**
> 
> I'd love to read a Mulan au. This au is pretty self-explanatory but it would be nice to see new scenes added and kind of a different plot from the one in the movie, not just a carbon copy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arcane (adj) - understood by few, mysterious or secret
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains a very brief moment of suicidal thoughts during a breakdown, no action is taken.

For anyone foreign to 15th century Korea, Kim Taehyung might be considered a rare beauty. His tall, slim frame, tanned complexion, and large, expressive eyes are all things to be admired and envied, his long eyelashes and baritone voice features that most people would swoon over. Most striking about him is that in a sea of people with silky black hair, Taehyung’s own is entirely white, pure and spotless in tone. His unique appearance causes him to stand out among the mundane, drab colors of his small village, seated right at the base of the mountains. Yet no matter how beautifully his hair shines in the sunlight or glows beneath the moon, its singularity causes nearly all of his troubles. It is whispered that Taehyung was cursed by a demon at birth, making his hair void of any color and casting a shadow of bad luck over him and all who came near him. 

At twenty years old, Taehyung doesn’t really think that he has bad luck or is any more cursed than anyone else. He might be exceedingly clumsy and tends to break more things than the average person, if the way his parents refuse to let him be around anything delicate is any indication, but he's not quite convinced that it’s a sign of a curse. His mother agrees, too. “Your hair has little to no correlation with your lack of coordination,” is what she always says when he’s especially lacking in grace. His grandmother only compares his hair to her own white strands and claims that it’s a sign of wisdom and an “old spirit”. Taehyung smiles and nods politely whenever she reminds him, but he isn’t convinced that he _wants_ to be an old spirit. Instead, he often wishes that he had black hair, or perhaps brown, even auburn, anything besides what he has. He has no friends, no marriage prospects, and he knows that the villagers love to gossip and whisper about him when he walks past. His own family has never treated him differently, and they say that the words of the people are all silliness and not to be heeded. But when you’ve lived twenty years without a real friend or even someone to call an acquaintance who isn’t merely intrigued by your novelty, it’s difficult to not let it affect you somehow. Among the very few who don’t seem terrified of him are the young children who run about the markets, laughing and playing and digging their grubby fingers into Taehyung’s bun of white hair, marveling at its color, telling him that he looks like an angel. He adores those children; it’s not their fault that their mothers are always quick to call them away and send him judgemental glances while hurrying out of his vicinity. When he himself was a child, it wasn’t always so bad. Only when he was around 8 years old did his peers become mean and take to spitting nasty insults, hissing that he was a devil-child, a living curse, some even kicking him to the ground and pulling at his hair until clumps of it wound around their cruel fingers like a token to keep. 

All that to say, Taehyung spends most of his life alone. Whenever he’s around people he keeps quiet and holds his head low so as to not attract unwanted attention. In the times that he isn’t helping his mother cook or sewing with his grandmother, he loves to stroll through the thick trees nestled at the base of the mountain, singing with the birds and braiding bands of flowers to lay on top of his head. Sometimes he sits and daydreams of a different world, one where he can thread the flowers through his hair and lay beneath the dappled sunlight shining through the branches with another person — a friend, maybe even a lover. Someone who would stroke their fingers through his silvery strands and kiss the crown of his head and whisper how beautiful and loved he is, uncaring of the alleged curse of his white hair. Often, Taehyung wonders if the true curse is to be an outcast, the irony being that he is an outcast only _because_ of a supposed curse. 

It is in these serene moments in the forest that Taehyung finds himself feeling his loneliest, despite feeling safe from the nastiness of the village. The birds, the sunlight, the blossoms around him don’t care that his hair is different. He thanks them for it, but he constantly wishes for a person to confide in, share his heart with, pour his love into, because for someone who’s received so much hatred in his life, Kim Taehyung holds a lot of love. 

———

“Eomma, this isn’t going to work. You know how clumsy I am.” Taehyung sits on a low stool with his mother and his grandmother hopping about, fussing with his hair and patting copious amounts of white powder onto his face. Today, they’re going to the matchmaker, where he will participate in the presenting ceremony of young eligible men and women. Taehyung thinks it a horrendous idea, not because he doesn't want a match of course, but because he has little hope of finding one. Why should he get all done up and look ridiculous if he’ll only be disappointed? But his family won't listen to his logic. 

“Taehyung-ah,” his mother chides, “They won’t be able to see your hair. Look, I bought this silk wrap for it. And your face won’t be so recognizable with the makeup on.” Taehyung tries to ignore the hurt he feels at literally being covered up to be more appealing, less _strange._ He knows they’re only trying to help. 

“Don’t you think that, if by some miracle someone does take interest in me, they’ll have to see me without a hat and makeup at some point?” Taehyung grumbles, his head being tightly wound in a long piece of blue embroidered silk. His mother simply ignores him, bouncing on her toes and humming to herself. Taehyung wishes he could share in her enthusiasm. His grandmother, a woman boasting less than five feet of height and long braided hair as white as his own, waltzes about the room holding a tiny container. Taehyung keeps trying to glimpse what’s inside, but she’s twirling around too briskly for him to see, so he slouches on his stool and pouts until his mother is done. 

“You know, Taehyung-ah, maybe even that handsome young officer will be on the lookout. The one they all say will be the youngest general in the Emperor’s army.” His grandmother bows her head as she mentions the Emperor, muttering under her breath _eternal life and prosperity to him._ Taehyung rolls his eyes, not having the slightest clue who she’s talking about. He hasn’t anyone to really discuss the newest gossip with, and a handsome young general certainly qualifies as such. 

At this point, his face is thoroughly caked and his hair modestly covered. His mother tugs a blue hanbok over his shoulders, similar enough to the wrap to look like a matching set. He was bathed earlier that morning, scrubbed until he felt like his skin might slough off. His grandmother prances in front of him, surprisingly spry for such an old woman. She sprinkles perfume over his chest and neck, the flowery stench so strong it makes him sneeze. She then shoves a tiny porcelain jar towards him, containing a faintly glowing ember. 

“Halmeoni, what is this for?” He takes the delicate jar between his long fingers and traces the painted swirls on the sides. 

“For good luck, of course!” Then she leans in and whispers right next to his ear, except that it’s hardly quiet enough to be considered a whisper at all, “It’s your guardian spirit.” She looks immensely proud of herself, as if a piece of coal will reverse all the bad luck Taehyung has ever had or will have, so he just nods and thanks her, not having the heart to laugh. He tucks the jar into his hanbok, making a show of patting it protectively. 

Soon, the three of them are walking to the matchmaker’s house. As soon as his mother knocks on the door, it flies open and before him stands the decider of his fate. She’s an incredibly fat, short woman, with round cheeks and eyes so thin Taehyung wonders how she can even see. For someone who’s supposed to be an expert on love and connection, he thinks she appears rather uneducated on the subject. Her thin mouth is pursed up tight as if she’s eaten something sour, and her tiny eyebrows slant up towards her hairline and make her look constantly angry. She reaches up and grabs his shoulder with a surprisingly firm grip, effectively tossing him into her home. He stumbles inside and trips over his own feet, landing on his palms and knees with a small huff _._ He hears his mother suck her teeth and the matchmaker turns around to stare at him, then at his mother, then back at him. 

“Hyojin-ssi, is this what you have brought me?” The matchmaker furrows her brows disapprovingly at Taehyung, who sniffs and shoves himself off the floor, trying to straighten his clothes and keep his chin held high. He doesn’t particularly like the tone this woman is taking, maybe she knows of his curse, or perhaps she’s just mean. 

“Now Sung-ssi, he’s just a bit clumsy is all. He’s a beautiful boy and he’ll make a wonderful match for someone.” Taehyung flushes at his mother’s defense, but the thought of spending the next few hours with Sung and a bunch of other adolescents fills him with dread. Imagining actually being matched to someone is even worse. He doesn’t want his future partner to first find him hidden and covered up like this, only to discover his secrets later and decide he’s not really worth the risk of a curse. 

His mother and grandmother go to stand outside, joining a growing crowd of other parents as they bring their children to be displayed like apples in the market. Girls and boys both, dressed in their best and slathered in so much makeup that Taehyung can barely tell what they really look like, meander about the room reciting their proverbs and patting down their clothes and hair. He notices that he’s the only one with his head entirely covered; others just have decorative hair pins or thin bands of fabric threaded through their inky black braids. After it appears that everyone is present, Sung raps a stick on the floor and catches everyone’s attention, telling them to line up by sex. 

What this really means for Taehyung is that he will be paraded around, unrecognizable, and hope that some wealthy man, most likely far older than he, will take an interest in his white face, painted lips, and figure, his hanbok cinched uncomfortably to accentuate his shape. Taehyung doesn’t know exactly how his family knows he’s attracted to men, or why it’s a clear next step in his path of life to cater him to one. He supposes it’s somewhat of a rite of passage, a coming of age ceremony to be presented to the lions, because here he is, standing in a line of other boys, similarly aged to him and all decorated with the same bland makeup. Their clothes differ slightly, some in robes cinched at the waist to appear more feminine, some wearing traditional masculine hanboks like himself, all with varying degrees of decoration. He himself feels a bit plain in his simple blue hanbok and headscarf, despite the embroidery across the fabric. It’s a strange sensation; he’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t stand out. He thumbs at his ears where no sparkling earrings hang, brushes his fingers across his throat where no jewels adorn his skin, which is darker from his hours spent outside than the rest of his peers. Even his hair, his most exciting feature, is covered, while everyone else has theirs in intricate, shining black braids or neatly fastened in buns crowning their heads, stuck through with glistening hairpins. He bites his cheek and lowers his gaze to the ground, hoping that no one else notices how out of place he must look. 

It’s not necessarily that he _wants_ to be noticed. He would rather not be paraded about like a prize animal, hoping that his own white painted face is more appealing to someone than the sea of others. He reaches a hand inside his pocket where the jar from his grandmother rests, wondering if he should wish to be favored, or to not be. As if wishing on a piece of coal would do much good anyway. 

“Now recite your proverbs, all together now,” the sharp voice of Sung cuts through the air, snapping Taehyung out of his thoughts. He had almost forgotten about the proverbs. He wonders how important it really is to a potential partner that he has all of his perfectly memorized. Everyone about him starts speaking their verses in monotonous, unexcited voices, so he joins in. He only stumbles over his words a few times. 

“Now, you must all be on your best behavior. Stand straight, keep your eyes low. You don’t want to appear defiant. Do not speak unless someone asks you to do so. If you do speak, use your proper language and do not mumble.” As Sung speaks, she weaves about the room, beady eyes scanning each prospect like they’re pigs ripe for slaughter. This all feels very surreal. Truly, Taehyung had not known that this day would come so soon. Vaguely he knew that this was a ceremony many young people participated in, but he never considered himself desirable enough to partake. He decides that he does not want to be chosen, he would rather be ignored. Perhaps he could even tug off his head covering and scare off any lustful men with one flash of his white hair. He snorts to himself softly at the thought, earning a disapproving gaze from Sung. 

Soon they’re on their way out the door, one person from the front of each line alternating so that it’s a boy, girl, boy, girl pattern. The sunlight is harsh when Taehyung steps out, causing him to squint at its brilliance. He’s astonished at what awaits them. It seems as if the whole village is lined up along the street, but what he notices is an unnerving amount of _men_. Old men, fat men, men that look like they’re thirsting for blood. Some with kinder eyes and wrinkled faces, some with sharp features and ravenous gazes. Taehyung shrinks into himself as he looks ahead, quickly falling behind the girl who was leading him. Praise be to his ancestors, not many seem to take much notice of him. Where just moments ago he was feeling self conscious of his underwhelming appearance, now he feels like falling to his knees and thanking all the powers that be for it. He tries to keep his eyes down and avoid the stares he passes by, wanting nothing more than to sprint to his forest and sit with the birds. He’s accustomed to having eyes on him, but usually they’re scared or judgemental. Now, they’re _hungry._

He steals a glance to his left when the sun becomes too harsh to bear to his front and is met with the dark eyes of a stranger. To his surprise, these ones are not cruel. Hardened around the edges, perhaps, but not cruel. They’re as black as night and glisten like a thousand stars reside in them, and Taehyung has a hard time looking away. Their large, doe-like stare makes them look far too innocent for the face they’re in, the stranger's features angular and somber in contrast to his curious eyes. His mouth draws down into a calculating line, and Taehyung sees his brows creep toward each other when their eyes meet. He’s clad in clean dark armor and a blood red cape fastened behind broad shoulders, Taehyung wonders where he’s from with such strange clothing. 

Later, he would wish he had never looked up, because after just a moment too long of staring, Taehyung realizes that the girl in front of him has stopped and turned to the side, but not before he can collide into her and manage to step right on her toes. She yelps and shoves him, making him lose his balance and stumble backwards into the girl behind him. This one happens to be looking away and is caught completely off guard when he falls into her. He grasps at anything he can to try to catch his balance, but just his luck, the first thing he finds purchase on is the neckline of her gown. He falls to the side with fabric in hand, managing to rip the majority of her dress off and leave her standing in her thin chemise. The blood rushes in his ears so quickly that he can barely hear the shocked reactions of the crowd. The girl screams and yanks her torn clothes away from him before smacking him hard across the face, knocking his scarf back from his forehead. He hears gasps and a chorus of surprised _ohs_ from the surrounding people as he kneels and scrambles to tug the cloth back over his hair, but he knows the damage has been done. Defeated, he lets his scarf fall into the dust beside him, exposing himself for all to see.

Taehyung hears every person in near proximity to him inhale sharply and shift away from him where he kneels on the ground, a murmur erupting among the crowd. Never in his life has he wanted to disappear so badly. He presses his face into the dirt and apologizes profusely to both girls, begging them for his forgiveness for their embarrassment. He can hardly understand his own words, he’s shaking so badly with shame. He feels hundreds of eyes on him, and he knows that the obsidian, starry eyes of the stranger are among them. For whatever reason, _that_ , more than anything else, makes him start to cry. He keeps his head to the ground and lets his tears soak the dust until his mother is there beside him, quickly covering his head and dragging him to his feet. 

“Taehyung-ah, get up.” He can’t discern if she’s angry, ashamed of him perhaps. She pulls him to the shade of a nearby building before marching back to the crowd. “Haven’t you ever seen someone trip before? Observe what you came for!” Her movement is pointed as she gestures to the remainder of the line, her voice commanding and assertive. Taehyung curls into a ball and holds his head in his hands, but he hears some of the murmuring soften as the eyes avert from him. His mother returns to his side and dabs at his dirty, tear streaked white face with her sleeve and looks at him with sadness apparent in her eyes. That makes him feel all the worse, and he struggles to keep his lip from trembling. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” is all she says before she pulls him up and turns him in the direction of their home. 

As he stands, Taehyung meets those same intense black eyes, and he can feel them on his back even when he turns to go. 

———

Taehyung sits cross-legged on the floor that night, having taken a bath and washed away all remains of tears, makeup, and dirt. He feels the shame still burning hot in his cheeks, no matter how much cold water he had splashed on them. For the thousandth time, he wonders if he really is cursed. Perhaps his bad luck isn’t of the same nature people think; he has never brought sickness or poverty or death to anyone. Could his curse instead be as simple as loneliness? As understated as just a stinging ache in his heart where he longs to be loved and accepted? He thinks perhaps it could be. 

He’s ashamed to feel the slightest bit relieved that he made a scene today. Although he regrets having to involve other people, it meant that at least no one chose him. For the time being, he was left alone. A strange contradiction, one might think, for someone who longs so desperately for companionship. But the true desire in Taehyung’s heart is to be loved _as he is,_ not as someone with black hair, pale skin, and no curses. 

Deep in his thoughts, his chest aches as he wonders if this is his entire future. Is there even a possibility of a person who could love him? He doesn't think that he’s unloveable, just misunderstood. Surely there is at least one soul wandering the earth that could love him, if only they take the chance to know him. He shivers at the thought that maybe, just maybe, there isn’t one. Not a single person who could consider him worthy of their love, all because of something out of his control. It isn’t _fair_.

He isn’t often angry over his situation, usually just sad or hurt. Now, he feels _anger_ boiling in the pit of his stomach _._ Who has the right to hate him purely for the color of his hair? Who decided that he was cursed, when he might not be at all? What decided that an innocent child who only longed for friendship would be abused by his peers? Will it always be this way?

He slams a fist into the floor beside his knee, wincing as a dull ache shoots up his arm. He immediately cradles his throbbing hand with the other, holding them both over his heart and gritting his teeth to keep tears from welling up in his eyes. His throat feels tight and he can’t swallow, so he rubs at his chest until he feels it loosen a little bit. 

He stares out the window at the moon, nearly full, surrounded by sprinkles of thousands of stars. The way they glisten in the blackness of the night reminds him of the glittering dark eyes of the oddly-dressed stranger he had seen at the parade, and his cheeks burn in shame that the handsome man watched him trip and expose his biggest secret. He hopes he never has to see him again. 

  
  


———

  
  


Life continues on as usual after that day, despite the new heavy knot of shame that has taken up residence in Taehyung’s stomach. He never really felt ashamed of his hair before, despite wishing many times he was normal. He just knew he was different, but he never felt ashamed. Now, he refrains from going into town as much as he can and spends more time than ever alone in the forest, wallowing in self pity. He journals on scraps of paper sometimes about his future, wondering if he could sail to the West where he books he reads tell of people with light hair, or if he could go north and live in the snowy mountains alone. He doesn’t doubt that he could easily blend in with the blinding white snow, and the thought makes him chuckle bitterly.

A week later, he’s sitting with his back against the trunk of a fat, squat tree on the edge of the forest, not far from his house. His hair is falling loosely around his shoulders, shining in the sunlight where its rays hit it. When he’s alone in the forest like this, he often takes his hair out of its tight knot to play with it or let it cascade over his back. It makes him feel freer in a melancholic sense, like he doesn’t have to tie it up and hide it when he’s here. 

He knows he has chores to do, but he doesn’t feel like doing them without a bit of peace in nature first. It’s so warm and the sunshine dappling over his bare calves where his trousers are rolled up feels so nice, he catches his head lolling to the side and blinks rapidly to keep himself from falling asleep. He thinks he’s dreaming when he hears the distant thunder of horses pounding their hooves into the packed dirt, there aren’t that many horses within the limits of his small village. A moment later, however, the sharp fanfare of a trumpet slices through the air and he jolts, the rough bark of the tree scratching at him through his thin tunic. His eyebrows knit together, he can’t even remember the last time he heard such a sound. Reluctantly, he pushes himself up from the ground to go and investigate, swiping a fist across his face to rub the sleepiness away. 

When he reaches the back entrance to his home a few moments later, his family is standing in the doorway, his mother and grandmother behind his father, who leans heavier on his crutch than usual. His right leg was nearly severed by an enemy sword in the last war, too long ago for Taehyung to remember. Since then, his father has been crippled, relying on a knobby wooden crutch to support his weight, his leg twisted and mangled with scarring. He’s gotten fairly nimble with his crutch, but Taehyung knows he can’t go long without it. 

As he approaches his family, Taehyung’s heart slowly starts to sink. Through the open door, he can see the heads of several soldiers sitting atop proud looking horses, at least fifteen of them. They carry the Emperor’s flag and are all dressed in dark armor with crimson capes draped over their horses and their own backs. Something about that triggers a memory in Taehyung’s mind, but he can’t place his finger on what it is that seems so familiar about the picture. The men all wear stoic expressions, their horses shifting impatiently on their feet. The one in the front is dressed differently, clothed in robes instead of glistening armor. He has a pencil-thin mustache stretching from above his puckered lips to nearly the middle of his chest, which is bony and caves beneath his tunic. He’s hunched over on his horse, his thin eyes pinched and observant of the curious villagers gathering about his party. 

With a flourish, the skinny man unrolls a long piece of parchment and clears his throat aggressively. 

“The Chinese have threatened to cross our northern border with intent of war! The Emperor, may he live forever, calls at least one man from each family in his prosperous nation to step forward and fight for their country and their honor!” The man’s voice is shrill and nasal, fitting very well with his shriveled appearance. A worried murmur breaks out among the crowd, and Taehyung sees his father drop his head as the man finishes speaking. The man ruffles his paper and clears his throat again before proceeding to call out the family names of each household in the village. With each name approaching his own, Taehyung sees his father flinch a bit, and he wonders why. It’s clear to him that as the only son, he will be the one to step forward. His father is already injured in the name of the Emperor, he cannot go to war again. 

“The family of Kim Sang-Chul,” Taehyung immediately surges forward and pushes his way between his mother and grandmother, past his father, and steps out into the sunlight. A collective gasp is heard from the crowd, and the shrimpy man startles and nearly drops his scroll. 

“I will go, my father has already loyally served the Emperor.” 

“Taehyung, get back this instant!” He hears his mother hiss from behind, but he stands his ground and bows his head to the soldiers. 

“What, wh-what _witchcraft_ is this?!” The man spits, waving his arms about frantically. “What devil lives inside of you, boy?” His words are sharp, and he shields his eyes from looking at Taehyung, as if the mere image of him is dangerous. “What curses do you plan to bestow upon the Emperor’s esteemed military? Get back!”

Taehyung opens his mouth to retort, but a firm hand squeezes his shoulder. “Son, that’s enough. It is my duty to serve my family and my country.” Taehyung whips his head around and stares at his father incredulously. 

“Appa, you cannot! You nearly gave your leg already, let me go in your stead!” His father’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and his mouth presses into a thin line. 

“You will not. I will decide what I am and am not capable of, now _go inside._ ” Taehyung feels tears of disbelief smart in his eyes, but he obeys. Something in his father’s voice urges him to argue no further. With his head hung low, he trudges back to where his mother and grandmother stand in the doorway, their eyes wide and lips trembling. 

“It will be my honor to serve my Emperor.” Sang-Chul limps forward and accepts a much smaller scroll from a bulky soldier perched on a black horse beside the little man, where he holds a bulging leather bag of scrolls to his side. The tears overflow then, a single one slipping down each of Taehyung’s cheeks. His face burns hot with shame and rage, and he clenches his fists at his sides. 

Once all of the families have received their orders, the man rolls up his parchment and hands it to the large soldier next to him. Scanning the crowd with his piercing eyes, he pouts his lips out and raises a skeletal arm into the air. 

“Let it be known that any person who tries to unlawfully enter or avoid the Emperor’s military will be immediately sentenced to death by beheading. You will be summoned to the Capital two days hence. Bring no clothing besides a plain tunic and trousers, you will receive your uniforms upon arrival.” The man turns his eyes to Taehyung’s father, turning his nose into the air. “And _you,_ keep that devil child of yours out of trouble.” With that, the man kicks his heels sharply into his horse’s sides and wheels around, the soldiers all following. Taehyung watches through a blur of tears as the Emperor’s flag ripples in the wind until the soldiers become nothing but spots on the horizon. 

The villagers are quiet, solemn, the evening sun casting orange shadows on their faces as they turn back to their homes with shoulders weighed down and eyes downcast. 

Taehyung’s father turns and limps toward where his family stands, his eyes sad and his forehead pressed down with worry. 

“A-appa,” Taehyung starts, but his voice breaks, so he clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut to keep his father from seeing his tears. He’s ashamed enough as it is, he can’t let his family see him being weak. His mother places a hand on his father’s back as he steps up into the doorway, supporting his weight or leaning on him, Taehyung can’t tell. Taehyung swipes a palm across his face roughly to dry it of tears before anyone can see. 

The family kneels silently at the low table, simple bowls of rice and soup in front of them, but none of them makes a move to speak or eat, not even when the food is cold. Taehyung clenches his fists in his shirt, chewing at his cheek until he tastes the tang of blood on his tongue. Finally, he bangs a fist into the table, startling everyone around him and earning a sharp glare from his mother. 

“Appa, you can’t go. Is it not enough that you have given so much for the Emperor already? It isn’t fair!” When no one responds, just their sorrowful eyes burning holes into him, he continues. “You’ll surely d-die if you go!” He digs his teeth into his lip when he feels tears sting his eyes again. “I don’t care what they say about me, let me go instead!” His chest rises and falls unsteadily with shallow breaths, his throat tight and a nauseous feeling rolling in his stomach, empty as it is. 

“Taehyung, that is enough. We will not speak of this again, do you hear?” Sang-Chul inhales and exhales deeply, as if trying to control his temper. “If I die, I die. It is a great honor to serve my country and my emperor, and I will lay down my life if it is necessary.”

“Who gives a damn about honor!” Taehyung sobs, slapping an open palm into the table. He ‘s aware that he’s being disrespectful, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I said that is _enough_. Pull yourself together, you will not speak in this manner.” His father’s tone is low and dangerous, and it makes Taehyung’s blood boil even more. How is everyone so calm about this? With a curt bow of his head, he shoves to his feet and storms out of the room, faintly hearing his mother call weakly after him. 

He throws himself face-first onto the thin pad that serves as his bed, tossing his arms over his head and digging his nails into his scalp. He pulls harshly at his bun until it comes loose, his hair tangling around his fingers. He considers ripping it all out in the hopes that it will grow back a normal color, but he had tried something similar before. Twice, to no avail. At eight years old he took his father’s razor and shaved it clean off when kids began ridiculing him, and did so again at thirteen when the boy that he liked told him he could never like a demon. 

He hates that he can’t serve in his crippled father’s place simply because of his hair, that he can never do anything right and makes a fool of himself everywhere he goes. He hates that this is what his life is, what it always will be. Briefly, he wonders if everything would be better if he were dead. His family wouldn’t be disgraced anymore, they wouldn’t have to worry anymore about protecting him. However hard they try to hide it from him, he knows that they suffer nearly as much as he does. He’s heard people accuse his mother of fucking the devil, saying that his birth was the result of her selling herself to evil.

An ugly cold feeling grips at his heart so hard that it feels like it might crumble beneath the force. For the first time in his life, it dawns on him that he might _be_ the curse. An embarrassment to his family that should be hidden away, tainting their reputation to be nearly as filthy and disgraced as his own.

“I wish I were dead.” He whispers into his pillow, unable to hold back his tears anymore. His body shakes with sobs, and he shoves a fist between his teeth to keep himself quiet. He punches his other into the bed with all the strength he can muster, gasping and pulling back when his hand comes in contact with something hard and ungiving. He rolls onto his side and holds his hand where an ache throbs in his knuckles, seeing his hanbok from the presenting ceremony laying on the bed, although he swears that he had folded it and put it in the corner of his room for the next time he would need to wear it. Sniffling, he reaches out a shaking hand and pats around for something hard, trying to blink the tears away enough to see clearly. In the pocket is the jar his grandmother gave him that day, which must be what he hit. _His good luck charm._

With a sob that rips through his chest, he throws the jar across the room, where it smashes against the opposite wall. The coal inside it bounces on the floor, and Taehyung gasps. It’s still glowing. He received it over a week ago, there’s no way that such a tiny coal should still be glowing as brightly as the day he first saw it. In fact, it seems to be glowing even brighter, but he tells himself it’s just his blurry vision. He sits up against the wall, intending to go and stomp on the coal. Some luck it gave him. 

Before he can do so, the coal definitely gets brighter. It keeps glowing more intensely until Taehyung can’t look at it, until it illuminates his entire room with a brilliant light as if it were the middle of the day. Taehyung shields his eyes and cowers against the wall, certain that he’s set fire to his house. The coal then starts to change in shape, stretching and wiggling as if a tiny creature were inside it pushing at its restraints. It gets bigger and bigger, and Taehyung whimpers and holds his head in between his knees, praying that this is just a nightmare and that he isn’t losing his mind. A strange whispering sound fills his ears, but it strangely doesn't sound malicious, instead almost joyful and mischievous. He steals a terrified glance at the amorphous, glowing mass writhing on his floor, and is shocked to see what looks like a _face._ He muffles a scream into the flesh of his thigh and is about to jump up and run for his life when a sudden loud pop rings in his ears. His eyes are screwed shut, but the light shining through his eyelids disappears and becomes dark again, and the whispering is suddenly fading away. 

“Well you didn’t have to throw me like that,” a voice suddenly says, startling Taehyung so badly that he nearly wets himself. Trembling, he raises his eyes from where they’re pressed into his knees, and almost screams again when he sees a little man, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tapping his fingers on his thigh impatiently. 

Almost everything about the man, if he can be called a man, is strange. Most noticeably, he’s small, proportionate to a regular sized adult, but about the height of a six year old child. He’s also glowing, the same brilliant orange of the coal. His clothes are simple, just a loose orange tunic over tight pants of a different shade of orange, with no shoes or socks covering his bare feet. Taehyung struggles to look at his face, where the light seems to shine most intensely from. He has a mop of short spiky black hair, styled with intentional messiness on top of his head. His features are sharp, with a straight, slightly pointed nose, large, bright eyes that are a mesmerizing pool of amber, gold, and honey brown, and a heart shaped mouth with a tiny freckle sitting atop one side of his Cupid’s bow. When Taehyung looks at him, he gives him an unimpressed look, flattening his lips out and making his cheeks puff out on either side. 

Taehyung doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, narrowing his eyes at the blinding glow of the man, so he goes with a soft “What in the name of—” 

“Hoseok.”

Taehyung stares dumbfounded, his lips parted as he tries to process what he’s seeing. He shakes his head back and forth and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, convinced that he’s finally gone insane. When he opens his eyes, he expects the little man to be gone, but there he sits, quirking a defined eyebrow. 

“Since you’re clearly incapable of a polite introduction, I’ll start.” The man leaps to his feet and gives an exaggerated bow, holding his hands behind his back. “As previously stated, you can call me Hoseok, I’m your guardian spirit. Sorry for all the theatrics, it’s been _forever_ since I was woken up and it takes me a while to stretch out. It’s terribly cramped to live as a tiny coal for two hundred years.” 

Taehyung still can’t close his mouth, so Hoseok steps forward and extends a tiny hand as if he wants him to shake it. Taehyung reaches out limply to envelop it in his own, but immediately pulls back with a hiss. The man’s skin is searing hot, as if his hand were a live ember Taehyung grasped in his palm. Tilting his head curiously, Hoseok pouts his lips at Taehyung’s reaction. 

“Y-you burned me,” Taehyung whispers, holding his stinging hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving the spirit’s face. 

Realization dawns on Hoseok’s expression, and he bows his head with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I forgot about that. I haven’t been in human form in forever.”

“In _human form?_ ” Taehyung says incredulously, “what form do you usually take?” 

“Oh, anything you want,” Hoseok answers, inspecting his hands. “I most prefer being a dragon, that’s what I was reborn as, but I live as a coal when I’m dormant. A flame is a pretty fun one, too.” As if to prove his point, he opens his palm and a tiny flame dances across his fingers. His face perks up and he smiles widely, and if Taehyung thought that he was bright before, now he may as well be the sun itself with how blinding his glow becomes. “Oh! And a firefly, I love being a firefly! This time, I thought a human would be best, to make my initial appearance to you less shocking.” He looks immensely proud of himself for being so considerate. 

“Nothing about this isn’t shocking,” Taehyung mutters under his breath, but he pulls his lips into a wry smile to acknowledge the effort. 

“It isn’t nice, you know,” Hoseok remarks, eyes trained on the flame wiggling excitedly in his palm.

“Uh, what isn’t nice?” Taehyung keeps his own eyes on the flame, terrified that it will leap free and set his entire house ablaze. 

“Saying you wish you were dead. Being dead isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Taehyung knits his eyebrows, heat rising in his cheeks. “Are you dead?” He doesn’t think anything about this little spirit could surprise him at this point. 

Hoseok nods thoughtfully, closing his hand into a fist and extinguishing the flame. “I have been. I was a member of this house many many years ago, when the family had a different name.” He looks to the ceiling and taps a finger on his chin. “I suppose that my half-sister was your father’s great-great-great-great-great grandmother. When her husband died at war, she returned to her maiden name, Kim. My name is Jung, but the name of this family changed to Kim when her bastard son became its patriarch.” He takes a deep breath and grins at Taehyung, as if that’s supposed to explain anything. 

“C-can I ask how you died? And why you’re… whatever you are now?” Taehyung leans in a little bit, trying to wrap his mind around the lineage Hoseok just rattled off. 

Hoseok hums, his smile falling a little bit. “My half-sister and I didn’t get along well. And when our parents died, I was supposed to be the head of the household as the eldest son. She was twisted in the head, and jealous of my position. She wanted her own son, who wasn’t even technically a part of my bloodline, to be the leader. We were more powerful then, you see, we held significant lands and were prosperous in trade with nearby provinces. I was out praying to my ancestors for a good crop season one day when she locked me inside the temple and set it on fire.” He drops his eyes to his hands again, his eyebrows furrowing. “I suppose my nature now reflects how I died. As to why I became a guardian spirit and many don’t, I don’t exactly know. I don’t remember being dead, I just remember waking up in a pile of ashes as a little dragon. I was so confused, I wandered about for years, not knowing what had happened or why I was the way I was. I had to watch my sister abuse our servants and the families we had built relationships with over a hundred years until nothing remained but this house, with no one competent to care for it.” Hoseok looks up into Taehyung’s eyes, and Taehyung is surprised to see fiery tears brimming in his amber irises. “I suppose I exist to protect the children of my family from what I suffered. As your halmeoni said when she gave me to you, I’m your guardian spirit. Not necessarily dead, not exactly alive. Who’s to say I’m here at all? I might be simply a figment of your imagination.”

Taehyung stares at Hoseok, nothing any clearer to him than it was before, and now he definitely thinks he’s crazy. He’s about to open his mouth again when Hoseok bursts out laughing, a crazed giggle so sharp it hurts Taehyung’s ears. 

“That last part was a bluff, I’m real, silly. My history is true and tragic, yes, but I quite enjoy being a fire spirit.” As if to prove his existence, Hoseok pats a burning hand on Taehyung’s cheek, making him wince. It doesn't sting as much as when he shook his hand, and his glow isn’t quite so painful to look at. Taehyung wonders if he’s adjusting, or if the spirit really is cooling down a bit. 

Hoseok claps his hands and exhales through his nose, blinking rapidly to rid his eyes of tears. “Now, what are we going to do?”

“W-what? About what?” Taehyung stammers, feeling whiplashed from how quickly the spirit bounces between moods. 

“Your father, silly. We can’t have him going to war, now can we?” Hoseok takes a large step forward and threads a hand through Taehyung’s tangled hair until it sticks up above his head. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head back and forth. “No, no, we can't have this, either.” He takes his other hand and taps it quickly on his temple, as if trying to recall something. After a moment of this, he grins mischievously at Taehyung, removing his hand and letting his hair fall back in a puff on top of his head. 

“You cannot go to war with hair like that, and your father cannot go in your place,” Hoseok paces back and forth in front of Taehyung, talking as if he’s giving a presentation. “Think, Taehyung, what can you do about this?”

Taehyung sighs, he’s been wondering the same thing since the soldiers came. He feels irritation simmering in his chest, it seems a lot like Hoseok already knows the answer and is just waiting for Taehyung to come to the same conclusion. 

“Hoseok...ssi, we don’t have a lot of time and I can’t think of any solutions. Since you clearly know what I have to do, why don’t you save us both some time and just tell me?” 

Hoseok snorts, waving a dismissive hand in Taehyung’s direction. “Call me Hoseok, there’s no need for honorifics here.” He flicks his middle finger against Taehyung’s temple, leaning in close and staring at him with honey eyes. “Think, Taehyung, think, think.”

Taehyung just stares blankly at him, a bit cross-eyed from how close the spirit is to his face. His aura is dimmer now, calmer, more bearable. Perhaps he’s adjusting to the human world again, or whatever. 

When Taehyung doesn’t say anything, Hoseok twirls away and sighs in exasperation. “What is something you’ve always wanted, Taehyung?”

Taehyung chews the corner of his lip. There are many things he wants, that question is too broad to answer correctly. “Um, love? Acceptance?” 

Hoseok throws Taehyung a deadpan expression, making it clear that isn’t the answer he wants. “As heart-wrenching as that is, think more material.” He moves his eyes to Taehyung’s hairline, which is a very uncomfortable feeling. “What is something _material_ that you’ve always wanted?” He keeps staring at Taehyung’s hair, widening his eyes. 

“Dark hair,” Taehyung mumbles, not feeling any closer to a solution. 

“Correct!” Hoseok shouts, making Taehyung jump. “Now, how are you going to _get_ dark hair?”

Taehyung makes an annoyed face. “Don’t you think that if that were possible, I would’ve done it many years ago?” 

Hoseok smiles slyly, and that expression is really starting to get on Taehyung’s nerves. “I’ll give you a hint,” and he sweeps his arm through the air in a series of shapes as if he’s writing. 

Taehyung just stares blankly, unconvinced that there really is a plan. Perhaps this mischievous spirit is just toying with him. 

When again he gets no response, Hoseok gives an exasperated exhale and slouches his body dramatically. “How are you supposed to survive in the army when you’re so dense?” 

Taehyung only indulges him in an offended glare, not particularly feeling like engaging in an argument. 

“Gods, must I do everything for you?” Hoseok spins around and plops onto his butt, pouting at Taehyung like a child. “Try this. If you plan on writing a tragic goodbye-I-love-you-and-I’m-sorry letter to your family, save the ink. It has a better use.” 

Taehyung glances at Hoseok, an idea forming in the back of his mind, but he shakes his head back and forth sadly. “Ink isn’t permanent, I’ve tried it before.” 

“Squid ink is, sort of. I happen to know that it’s commonly used as a temporary color in the Western countries, and I also happen to know that there is a large abandoned supply of it not far from here.” Hoseok looks immensely pleased with himself, and as much as he hates to admit he’s right, Taehyung thinks maybe this idea could work.

Hoseok jumps to his feet and giggles like a maniac before spinning on his heel and darting out the little door Taehyung has in his room, leading to the path through the forest. Taehyung scrambles to follow and almost trips over his own feet in the process. He stumbles through the door and follows the orange glow zipping through the trees at an inhuman speed. 

“Hey, slow down!” Taehyung wheezes, nearly losing sight of the spirit. They sprint through the forest until they’re in territory unfamiliar to Taehyung, surrounded by thick canopies of trees and branches so dense that Taehyung can’t move through them without getting scratches over his forearms and hands. The full moon hardly reaches the ground through the mass of leaves overhead, so Taehyung’s way is only illuminated by the faint orange glow flitting about ahead. He thinks his heart is just about ready to explode when Hoseok finally skids to a stop, about 30 meters in front of him. Taehyung thumps his way up to where he stands, clutching his chest, distraught that the spirit doesn’t seem to have even broken a sweat while Taehyung feels like he’s dying. 

“You know, if you’re going to survive in the army then you’ll have to do a lot better than _that,_ ” Hoseok remarks, clicking his tongue at Taehyung’s bent over figure. 

“Shut up,” Taehyung gasps, bearing his weight on his knees, “Is it close?” 

Hoseok nods, pointing to his left. Taehyung squints in the darkness and after a moment, makes out the vague shape of a storehouse, debilitated and broken down, but there nonetheless. Hoseok gives him another moment to catch his breath before strolling towards the shed, whistling softly. Taehyung pads along behind him, his chest still burning. 

Hoseok stands by the broken away door and gestures for Taehyung to step inside, to which Taehyung stares curiously at him. “Aren’t you coming in? You're the one who actually knows about all this stuff,” Taehyung glances uncertainly into the blackness of the shed, then back at Hoseok. 

“This is your journey, Taehyung. I can help you along with it, but you’re the one who has to actually do it. Bad things would happen if I were to overstep my boundaries. Go on, it’s safe.” Hoseok peers into the building as well, pointing to the back of it. “There should be several jars of squid ink on the back shelf, grab as many as you can hold. You’ll need a lot of it.” 

“How do you know about all this?” Taehyung still looks skeptical. 

Hoseok just shrugs. “Because I put them there, remember that our family was very important to trade before my sister messed everything up.” 

Taehyung looks even more skeptical now. “Wouldn’t it have gone rotten or something? I’m not putting rancid ink on my head, no I am not.”

Hoseok chuckles, running a hand through his own hair. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? Yes, it should have spoiled, but I suppose some of the powers that be knew you would need it someday. It’s as good as the day it was made. Consider it a helping hand.”

Taehyung furrows his brows and bites his lip, but eventually he concedes and steps into the dark without a word. Hoseok sticks his head into the doorway to illuminate the space enough for Taehyung to see. It’s easy to spot, bottles and bottles of thick black ink stacked at the back of the shed. He plucks one after another from the shelves, careful not to break them, cradling some in the fabric of his tunic, the pockets of his trousers, and as many as he can carry in his own arms before he steps back out into the trees. 

“Let’s perhaps not run this time,” Taehyung pleads, glancing at the bottles in his arms as if they were rubies. Hoseok just nods and giggles, setting off in a brisk walk back the way they came. 

———

Taehyung lifts his head from where it was pressed to the cool tiles of the floor. He has been praying to his ancestors, Hoseok kneeling beside him, his heart thundering in his chest as the reality of what he is about to do settled in. 

He holds a hand to his breast, trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart. 

“Hoseok, I’m afraid,” he whispers, almost too soft to be heard. Hoseok just glances in his direction and nods understandingly, placing a warm hand on Taehyung’s thigh. 

“Fear is normal for any normal person, Taehyung, and I wouldn’t consider your situation a normal one. You're very brave.” For the first time since his appearance, Hoseok sounds genuine and his voice is much softer than usual. Taehyung appreciates how the heat of his hand burning through his pants somehow makes him feel a bit calmer. He sets his jaw and takes a deep breath before pushing to his feet, staring at his blurred reflection in the polished stone of the walls, inscribed with prayers and names. 

Silently, he pads along the short path back to his house from the separate temple, Hoseok trailing behind. He knows what’s next, and he knows that this is his last night at home. A single candle gleams through the window from the common room, where he knows his mother probably sits awake, worrying at her lip and muttering to herself. His heart aches to go to her and explain everything, say he loves her, apologize. But he knows that would just make everything worse. Instead of entering into his house, he skirts along the outside walls until he comes to the little shed that they use for storage. Hoseok steps up beside him to provide some light, and his orange glow glimmers back at them from where a suit of armor hangs on the back wall. It’s plain, tarnished gray in color, each piece of it hung meticulously in place on the wall, but it still makes Taehyung’s breath catch. It’s his father’s armor, the exact pieces that he wore in battle when he was a soldier, but it’s not what he’s here for. As symbolic as he thinks it would be to wear his father’s suit to war, he’s here for only one thing. He steps forward towards it, its metallic sheen brighter than that of the armor. It lays on hooks above the suit on the wall. Taehyung reaches up his fingers and brushes them carefully over the smooth metal of his father’s sword, careful to avoid the sharp edge. With an uncertain glance at Hoseok, to which he receives a reassuring nod, he clasps his fingers around the handle and lifts it from its place on the wall. It’s heavy, its weight feeling sturdy and solid in his hands. He doubts he could swing it or hold it for very long, though, its heft already pulling a sting from the muscles of his forearm. 

Without a word, Taehyung spins on his heel and steps back into the moonlight, taking a last look at his father’s armor. Much as he wants to take it, he only needs the sword for what he has to do next. He kneels in the grass beside the shed, tugging the ribbons from his messed up bun of hair and untangling it with his fingers. He ties one ribbon around the top of a braid at the base of his neck, the other at the bottom, doing his best to make it even. 

“Be careful, don’t cut yourself,” murmurs Hoseok, standing by with his arms crossed. Taehyung shoots him an annoyed look. 

“It would’ve been easier if we just used a normal knife, why did you recommend this again?” 

Hoseok just shrugs and gives a cheeky grin. “The _symbolism,_ Taehyung. I live for the dramatic elements. Don’t spoil it for me.” 

Taehyung rolls his eyes and lifts the sword from the ground, grunting a little bit at its weight. Carefully, he positions the blade under where the braid rests at his nape, taking a deep breath before sawing it back and forth. It takes only a few seconds before a bundle of white hair plops to the ground, bound at both ends by the black ribbons. Taehyung exhales sharply and runs his fingers through the blunt new ends of his hair, now falling in waves to his ears. Hoseok smiles from the side, holding a hand over his heart. 

“Let me fix it a little bit,” he chokes, wiping false tears from his eyes. 

“Why are you worked up?” Taehyung scoffs, plucking the severed hair from the grass, “It’s just hair, and it’s so that I don’t use as much dye. It’s purely practical.”

“Oh, no, you don’t understand,” Hoseok chirps as he hefts the sword in his own child-sized hands. Taehyung is surprised he can even hold it, but he supposes that comes as a part of his spirit powers or something. “You are cutting off your life here, don’t you see? Even if you don’t realize it, you tether your experiences here to your hair. Your misery in this town has been because of it. Cutting it off before you go to war, it symbolizes separating yourself from the life you knew here. Your past can remain here with that braid.” Hoseok nods to where the short braid lays in Taehyung’s hands. He fingers it gently, a strange feeling swelling in his chest. Hoseok, with surprising (perhaps inhuman) finesse, slices a little bit here and a little bit there until Taehyung’s hair looks intentional. It’s choppy, but it’s wavy and sweeps back from his face in layers. 

“All done,” Hoseok sighs as he drops the sword to the ground, giving himself a physical pat on his own shoulder for his handiwork. Taehyung drags his fingers through the grass on either side of him, gathering the little clumps of hair up in a fist before rising to his feet. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs as he runs his free hand through his short locks, an odd sense of loss bubbling at the base of his throat. Without another word, he picks up the sword, gracelessly, and tiptoes as quietly as he can in through the side door to his home. His mother must have gone to bed, as the candle is extinguished Taehyung brings the braid to his lips and whispers his apologies and love for his family into the strands before laying it gently on the table. “I’ll be safe. I love you.” He hopes his words will somehow reach his family’s ears when they come across the braid in the morning, when he will already be long gone. As eventful as this evening has been, it’s not very late, the moon still visible at eye level out the window. Taehyung knows that much remains to be done before he departs. 

“What now?” He turns to Hoseok, who is looking wistfully at the braid. Hoseok looks up and grins devilishly, his teeth so brilliantly white Taehyung has to squint. 

“Dye time.” He grabs Taehyung by the wrist and drags him out the door to the back of the house where Taehyung had dumped the stash of ink he gathered into the grass. At least fifteen little bottles of the black liquid lay strewn about on the ground, and Taehyung’s heart rate picks up at the reality of his situation once again. He is really about to color his hair, his defining characteristic and the root of all of his problems (if you discount his clumsiness), and erase his identity as if it never was. How strange to know that the Kim Taehyung he knows will not exist in just a few hours when he joins his countrymen to fight for his nation and his family. 

_No going back now._

Taehyung straightens his shoulders and swiftly unties the cords of his tunic and lets it fall softly to the ground at his feet. The moonlight filtering through the trees casts gentle blue shadows over the skin of his back and tints the white of his hair. He drops to his knees, taking the closest bottle between his fingers and steeling his nerves again. Hoseok reaches down and plucks the bottle from Taehyung’s palm. When Taehyung is kneeling, he’s nearly as tall as Hoseok standing.

“I’ll do this part. We don’t want it to look patchy, now, do we?” Taehyung scoffs, but he’s grateful for the help; he can’t say he’s ever dyed his hair with ink before, or at all for that matter. Hoseok carefully pops the cork from the mouth of the bottle and tips it over Taehyung's head. Taehyung shudders at the sensation of the cold dribbles of ink seeping into his scalp, but he tries to keep still as best he can. Hoseok massages his warm fingers through Taehyung’s hair following the trails of ink he drips over it, working his way around his head until no white remains. He gives the stiff, sticky hair an affectionate pat before he snaps his fingers and the black splotches staining his hands vanish. 

“Perks of being a spirit,” he murmurs, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Taehyung’s short hair sticks out oddly, clumps of it held in all directions by the drying ink. He looks up at Hoseok with his big dark eyes, reflecting the moonlight and Hoseok’s own fiery glow. 

“Is it finished?”

Hoseok snickers a bit at the boy’s haphazard appearance, swiping a hand over the spikes at the crown of his head. “Yes, but we should wash it out in a few minutes. Give it some time to stain and then rinse it.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about this,” Taehyung comments, patting a hand gingerly over his stiff hair. 

Hoseok shrugs, looking into the trees surrounding them. “I suppose I’m somewhat of an ageless being now. I know things that I wasn’t necessarily taught, and even I don’t know how I know them. Spirit intuition, you could call it, or some semblance of seeing the future. I think people will color their hair often in the future, but no one ever told me that. I just know.” He strokes a thumb over Taehyung’s cheek fondly, giving him a small smile. Somehow, despite just meeting this strange little man, Taehyung leans into the touch and isn’t the least bit uncomfortable. “I also know you’re destined for great things where you’re going. I can't elaborate, I don’t know how great or what they are, but I see goodness in your future.” Hoseok pinches the same cheek before turning around and giggling as he dashes off towards the stream in the forest, effectively ruining the moment. Taehyung sighs and pushes to his feet before jogging after the spirit. 

A few moments later, Taehyung has his head submerged in the frigid water of the stream running behind his house. Hoseok told him to massage at his head, so he does so as much as he can through the shivers the water induces. The night air is pleasant, not too hot, but the water is freezing and he’s shirtless. Goosebumps tingle over his arms and at the nape of his neck, but he continues rubbing vigorously at his hair until the stream beside him runs clear instead of inky. Hoseok taps at his shoulder and tells him to stop, they don’t want to rub the ink completely out. Taehyung is happy to oblige, his teeth chattering as he flicks his hair back from his face. 

“Wow, it’s really black,” Hoseok comments, running a hand through it. 

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Taehyung runs his own fingers through it, but it’s too short for him to see even if he strains his eyes to one side and pulls a chunk of it down. Hoseok nods and gives a reassuring smile before sprinting off back towards the house. 

“Do you always have to run?” Taehyung whisper shouts, rolling his eyes and taking off as well. He picks up his shirt as he follows Hoseok into the courtyard, shivering when the wind brushes against the now bare nape of his neck. When he slips through the door in his room, Hoseok is already sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking as comfortable as if he had been lounging there forever. Taehyung huffs at him and tugs his tunic on, leaving it open across his chest and stomach. He exhales through his nose before turning to the mirror on the opposite wall of his bed, not sure he’s ready for what he’s about to see. 

He doesn't expect to cry, but he can’t help it. His hair is _black._ Thoroughly, believably black. Fat tears well up in his eyes and blur his vision as he brings a shaky hand up to run through the strands, his heart quickening in his chest. In a flash Hoseok is beside him, squeezing his elbow comfortingly and gazing kindly at his reflection in the mirror. 

“I… I don’t know how to react to this,” Taehyung whispers, carding his fingers through his newly dark hair. “I’ve wanted this my entire life, and now I have it, and I don’t know how to feel about it.” His voice is a bit raw, vulnerability cracking through. He tries to swipe his tears away before they betray him, but Hoseok just rests his head on his upper arm, too short to reach his shoulder comfortably. 

“It is a shock, yes. You don’t need to hide your tears from me.” Hoseok’s voice is soft, understanding, and it only increases the knot in Taehyung’s throat. He swallows roughly to prevent a sob from coming out, but a weak whimper still escapes. Taehyung feels his face burn hot for breaking down so easily in front of someone who is essentially a stranger, but somehow the embarrassment feels shallow. He knows, for whatever reason, that he can trust Hoseok. He continues staring at himself in the mirror, touching his hair until it feels a bit less alien to him. 

A strange sense of loss settles in his gut, but he can’t quite name it as such. It feels like a small rock making its way down his throat and into his stomach, nestling at the bottom, so little it’s nearly unnoticeable. But it’s there. Maybe, just maybe, Taehyung misses his white hair more than he anticipated. He had expected to feel relief, maybe like he found his true self, the reflection showing him who he always was meant to be. He definitely hadn’t expected to feel like mourning his real hair. Now, looking at himself with dark hair, looking like everyone else, he wonders if this is truly what he wants. 

_It doesn’t matter if I want it anyway,_ he thinks, _it’s for Appa. So I can fight for him._

He straightens his shoulders and gazes into his own eyes, holding his chin back and looking as stoic as he can. 

“I guess this is the new me.”

———

The moon sits high overhead by the time Taehyung has a small satchel packed with some food and water slung over the back of his horse, Yongsa. Another bag contains several bottles of ink for when his hair fades, and his father’s sword hangs at Yongsa’s side. Only a tattered, old blanket covers the horse's back, but Taehyung prefers riding without a saddle anyway. Standing back and looking at his meager supplies, Taehyung can’t help but feel that he’s missing something. Hoseok is puttering about on Yongsa’s opposite side, straightening the blanket repeatedly and double checking that the packs are secure. Taehyung’s heart hasn’t stopped beating harshly against his ribs since he saw his black hair, as the reality of the moment sets in. He’s about to run away to illegally enter military training in his father’s place. He prays that he isn’t caught, because being caught means death, and he would rather not die at the ripe old age of twenty.

“What else, what else,” Taehyung mutters to himself, tapping on his chin. Once he leaves, there is no coming back. If he forgets something important, there is no retrieving it. He has water, food, ink dye, and his sword. The scrawny little announcer man told them to bring no clothing but a plain ensemble, so he’s already overpacked on that account. He wonders if he should bring any special possessions in case he dies in the war. 

_In case he dies in the war._

_I could die at war._

Taehyung inhales a shaky breath and rolls his neck, there is no going back. He will do this. He will not be afraid and weak in the face of fear. 

Or at least he’ll try his damned best. 

“Yongsa, my boy, time to live up to your name, hm?” Taehyung runs his hand over the horse’s shoulder, speaking more to himself than the horse itself. “Let’s be brave _,_ shall we? They didn't summon us to be cowards.” Yongsa nuzzles gently at Taehyung’s shoulder in turn, as if sensing the impending danger.

“The summons!” He yells suddenly, surprising even himself and making Hoseok leap back and nearly fall over backwards. “I almost forgot, I need them for verification.”

“Ya! Warn a guy!” Hoseok pants, dramatically clutching at his chest. Taehyung ignores him and jogs into the house, racking his brain for where the scroll could possibly be. 

He darts around the common and dining areas, eyes scanning every surface he sees but to no avail. The moon shines brightly enough to make the shapes in the rooms clear, but he doesn’t see the scroll. Reluctantly, Taehyung turns towards his parents’ room. It’s adjacent to Halmeoni’s, but across the house from his own. Now that he considers it, it seems as if his room was an add-on to the house, like it wasn’t built there in the first place. He makes a mental note to question the architecture of his home if he ever returns to it alive. 

He tiptoes as softly as he can through the low, doorless doorway to where his parents sleep. At least he hopes they’re sleeping by now, it must be approaching the middle of the night. He breathes a sigh of relief when he hears gentle snores coming from his father, and very not-gentle snores coming from his grandmother in the next room over. Fortunately, the scroll is easily spotted, laying ominously atop a large chest in the corner. He pads over and picks it up as silently as he can, cradling it in his palm. 

He turns to go, but he can’t help giving a last glance at his parents. The moonlight casts a gentle glow over their sleeping forms, the scene so peaceful and serene and altogether heartbreaking for Taehyung. 

“I’m sorry, I love you.” 

Taehyung turns his back and leaves his house without another word or look at what he leaves behind. 


	2. Mangata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mangata (n) - the glimmering reflection of the moon on the water, leading like a path

Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, now sticky and dirty from a full day of riding with the sun beating down on his head. He’s completely exhausted, having not slept since the day before he left home. Now, staring at the walls of the capitol city, he feels like he very well might slide sideways off of Yongsa and collapse on the ground. Hoseok came and went during his journey, not needing to run or ride but content to simply exist at his side when he felt like conversing about the stars or what type of dumpling was the best or how Taehyung would best like to die. Sometimes he would disappear, leaving Taehyung alone with his thoughts and the sound of his horse‘s hooves, only to pop back up twenty minutes later and scare the life out of Taehyung no matter how many times he did so. At the moment, he’s buzzing about by Yongsa’s head, chattering nonstop about random topics as they stand at the crest of a hill overlooking the city. 

Taehyung gently kicks his heels into Yongsa’s sides and urges him forward, his poor horse dragging his feet sluggishly, even more exhausted than Taehyung himself. Only a moment later, they come to a stop at the gate. Taehyung pulls out his orders and hands them to a gruff looking guard, who scans the scroll, looks between it and Taehyung a few times, and nods for him to continue. After breathing a sigh of relief, Taehyung only then realizes that Hoseok has disappeared again. He sighs, rubbing a hand, aching from gripping the reins, over his dusty face. 

“Hoseok, come back, I need advice,” he mutters, more to himself than to the spirit. After a few moments of no appearance, he sighs again and decides to look for a place to spend the night. Just as he’s about to lean down and ask a stranger for the nearest inn, someone taps his leg. When he looks down, there stands Hoseok, glowing just as bright as always. Taehyung stutters when he realizes how out of place and downright insane Hoseok looks, standing there among the meandering crowd of regular people. 

“Hide! You’re glowing!” He hisses, scrambling to find something to cover Hoseok with. Hoseok just giggles and hops up to perch backwards on Yongsa’s neck, who seems entirely unbothered by his weight. 

“They can’t see me, silly, I’m a spirit,” Hoseok leans forward and pokes Taehyung’s nose, making him go cross eyed. 

“But w-why-” Taehyung starts, cut off by Hoseok flicking a finger to his lips to silence him. 

“I’m _your_ guardian spirit, of course you can see me. Humans only see me when I want them to. Now, let’s find an inn, shall we? I’m drained.”

Taehyung is about to retort that Hoseok was able to come and go as he pleased and didn’t actually do any riding, but Hoseok rolls off of Yongsa’s neck and plants his feet in the dust of the street. 

“Oh, that one looks nice, let’s stay there!” Hoseok grabs Yongsa’s bridle in one little hand and skips towards a run down, sagging old building with a worn sign saying “Morning Glory Inn” stuck in the dirt in front of it. Taehyung feels an argument rising in his throat as he scrunches his nose at the appearance of the inn, but he’s so tired he’ll settle for any place with a bed. It’s only for one night, and he truthfully can’t afford much better. 

He dismounts, his legs so stiff he nearly falls flat on his face. His back and ass are incredibly sore, and he wishes that he had ridden Yongsa more often when he was at home. There’s a deep trough of dirty looking water at the post outside, but Yongsa doesn’t seem to mind as he dips his head and swallows huge gulps of it. Taehyung ties the reins loosely around the post and trudges inside, the room very dark and smelling of spicy incense and smoke. 

An old woman with a tight bun of gray streaked hair looks up from where she sits at a low table, piercing black eyes shining from a kind, wrinkled face. 

“Hello, what can I do for you?” Her voice is gentle, and Taehyung finds himself missing his grandmother. 

“I need a room for one night, one person, please,” he says, bowing his head respectfully. The woman nods and stands crookedly to her feet, a few sickening pops sounding in her joints as she does so. Taehyung reaches out to help her, but she bats his hand away and tuts at him. 

“Don’t treat me like I’m old, young man, it only makes me _feel_ old.” Her eyes sparkle and there’s mirth in her voice. Taehyung dips his head and follows her up the dimly lit, creaking staircase, gripping tight to the rail on one side for fear of the wood collapsing under his weight. It doesn’t, and just a moment later the woman is unlocking a door that creaks painfully on its hinges and stepping back to let him see in. The room is small, but it’s clean. Taehyung half expected there to be dust on the sheets and bugs in the mattress, but it looks well cared for. A small four poster bed takes up most of the space, with a short dresser sitting under a window looking out over the street. Taehyung nods his approval and murmurs his thanks, sitting gingerly on the bed as the old woman smiles and makes her way slowly back down the stairs. 

Taehyung knows he should retrieve his belongings and feed Yongsa, perhaps find some food for himself, but the mattress feels surprisingly comfortable when he lays back on it. He tries to keep his eyes open, but he’s doing a bad job of it. He’s just about to doze off when a _crack_ sounds beside him, startling him and making him gasp and leap to his feet. Hoseok giggles next to him, sitting cross-legged on the little bed. Taehyung clutches a hand over his pounding heart, feeling the tingle of adrenaline cooling in his veins. 

“Stop doing that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Taehyung slumps back to the bed, swatting at Hoseok’s thigh. 

“Get used to it, and I did it so you would wake up and feed your damn horse! And yourself! There are things to be done, no rest for the weary. Chop chop, get up!” Hoseok claps his hands right next to Taehyung’s ear, and Taehyung considers, not for the first time, strangling the little spirit. He doesn’t, though, reluctantly getting to his feet and stumbling down the stairs into the warmth of the sunset. 

Streaks of brilliant yellow and faded pink claw through the dusty orange sky like lines of fingerpaint, casting a golden glow on everything outside. Yongsa stands with his head resting on the post, eyes lazily half closed and legs relaxed. Taehyung slings his packs over his shoulders and pulls the blanket from his horse’s back, shaking it out and watching clouds of dust billow in the light. He folds it in half before spinning on his heel and running upstairs to dump everything on the bed. The key still sits in the tarnished brass doorknob, so he locks the door and places the key in his breast pocket for safekeeping. 

He thumps down the stairs, less wary of their structural integrity now. 

“Ajumeoni, is there a place I can feed my horse?”

The woman looks up again and nods, pointing left. “I have feed on the other side, you can keep him there. It’s part of your room charge.” Taehyung again nods his thanks, stepping out and taking hold of Yongsa’s reins and tugging him towards the other side of the inn. Sure enough, a small stall leans against the side, a wooden bucket of grain and a bundle of somewhat gray looking hay hanging on the wall. Yongsa isn’t picky, so Taehyung takes off his bridle and hangs it over a fence post, closing the rickety gate and turning around to let him eat in peace. 

He strides along the dusty street towards what looks like a market, not taking notice when Hoseok appears at his side. Only now does he realize how tight his stomach feels with hunger, twisting and making strange groaning noises every few moments. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and fingers the few coins he has in there, wondering what he can buy for so little money. 

———

Jeon Jeongguk fingers the edge of his cloak, the blood red fabric rough to his touch. 

He’s nervous. 

He sits on a low wooden stool at an outdoor restaurant bar, an untouched glass of some alcohol he couldn’t name in front of him. He may throw up if he drinks it. Actually, he might throw up regardless. 

Tomorrow is the day. At just twenty-four years old, Jeongguk is the youngest commanding officer in the Emperor's army. He wants to believe that it’s because of his own skill and hard work, but if he’s honest with himself, it probably has more to do with the fact that his father is the Emperor’s most trusted general. Before long, if all goes well, Jeongguk will be a general himself. That’s the plan set before him, one that he can’t discern his own feelings about. He knows the whispers that circulate the ranks about favoritism and that he rode to glory on his father’s success instead of his own, and he imagines it would only multiply if he became the youngest general in the history of Korea’s military. 

For what seems like the thousandth time, he sighs and drops his head to his hands, massaging at the aching in his temples. These thoughts are not new, but they’re amplified today because tomorrow marks the start of the most important part of his career. Tomorrow, he will be put in charge of training the new wave of drafted soldiers, sculpting them and beating them to perfection to defend their country against the impending threat of war from China. China is far larger than Korea, but he knows that only the power-hungry province that borders Korea is actually threatening war. The announcement excluding that detail magnified the danger, if only to prepare the people for the worst. The threat is real and dangerous, yes, but not nearly as much so as the people may believe. 

Jeongguk peeks through his fingers at the people passing by, wondering how many of them are his soldiers, which of them he will see tomorrow to be left at the mercy of his training. 

Against his better judgement, he sits up and downs the alcohol before he can think about it, groaning at the sour taste. He doesn’t like drinking, rarely indulging in it, but right now he feels like he needs some “liquid courage”. 

As he blinks back tears stinging in his eyes from the burn of the alcohol, he glances toward the street market. He turns his head when someone walking through the throngs of people catches his eye. He’s a boy, tall and very thin, his plain cotton clothing hanging from his shoulders. There’s nothing particularly striking about him from this distance, Jeongguk doesn’t know why he can’t tear his eyes away from him. His inky black hair has a strange sheen to it in the orange glow of the setting sun, like there’s no tone or variety to it. It beautifully complements rich, golden skin and dark lashes, falling over large, soulful eyes. He’s strolling along in the market, brushing his fingers over fruits and cuts of meat as he goes. Jeongguk can’t help but notice how beautiful they are, long and slender and graceful. Jeongguk tilts his head as he watches the boy, his empty stomach churning with the alcohol and nerves. A sudden desire to be nearer, to study the boy up close throbs in his chest, and Jeongguk clenches his fists to control the impulse. 

———

Taehyung brushes his fingers over fruits and cuts of raw meat as he strolls along in the market, and they all look fresh, but he hasn’t any way to cook anything he buys. His stomach cries out for something hearty and filling, but nothing he sees seems quite right. He’s hit with a pang of longing for his mother’s cooking, she always knew exactly how he liked his meat. He asks a merchant if anyone nearby sells cooked meals, and the stubby little man nods and points behind Taehyung. He nods and turns around, squinting into the brightness of the sunset where a little open seated shack sits. Hoseok chirps his apparent approval and skips along in front of Taehyung, who wonders if spirits need to eat at all. 

It looks pretty empty, only two girls sitting at one table, a brooding man at the other. Taehyung tilts his head in curiosity when he realizes that the man is already looking at him when he turns around. He doesn’t look much older than Taehyung himself, even when he’s dressed in an imposing suit of dark armor covered with a cloak as red as blood. Taehyung averts his eyes from the stranger and walks looking at the ground, his heart beating slightly faster with each step. 

As he nears the shop, Taehyung can hear the high pitched giggles of the girls sitting at the table on the right side, and they seem to be staring at the soldier sitting to the left. They clutch at each other’s hands and whisper, not very discreetly, to one another before bursting into fits of more bashful giggling. Taehyung doesn’t look back again, but he can still feel the burn of the man’s gaze on him as he approaches, never straying as he gets closer and closer. He feels suddenly self conscious, running a hand absently through his hair, wondering if perhaps it’s faded already and the man can see its true coloring. He thought his clothes might be dirty, but a quick glance downward disproves that idea. Perhaps his face looks funny and he isn’t pretty enough to fit in with the people of the Capitol. His cheeks feeling hot, Taehyung keeps his eyes down and rushes into the shop, finally feeling the stare of the stranger leave him when a wall comes between them. 

To his relief, the food is cheap and smells delicious. He quickly orders some meat, rice, and soup, looking around the small interior of the shop. To his dismay, there is no seating inside. He’ll have to sit under the watchful gaze of whoever the man is outside. He would take it to his room at the inn to eat, but he doesn’t want to walk that far under the blazing evening sun when his stomach is rumbling so insistently. The easiest plan of action, despite the unsettling man, is to just eat here as quickly as possible and leave. 

He pays for his meal and sneaks as best he can out the door and sits at the table closest to it, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees that the man has his back turned. From here, he can observe him more closely without fear of meeting his unwavering gaze. 

His hair is dark and wavy, a bit longer than his own. That’s strange for a soldier, as they typically have it in a neat bun, but this one has his in loose waves that just tickle the nape of his neck. He’s big, shoulders broad and strong looking under his cape, which drapes down to the back of his stool. His right hand grips a small empty shot glass, and Taehyung follows the maps of veins on the back of his hand until they disappear under his long sleeves. He must be feeling hot with all that gear on, despite the pleasant temperature of the late summer evening. 

_He’s beautiful,_ Taehyung thinks, almost forgetting that the stranger had been staring at him almost rudely earlier. At least the part he can see is beautiful, Taehyung can't speak for his face, having avoided it when he walked over to the shop. He almost considers greeting the man to break the weird tension that’s built up between their stares, but he decides against it as he shovels the last of his food into his mouth and swallows without chewing thoroughly. He chokes, turning bright red as he claps a palm over his mouth. His cheeks flush even hotter when dark eyes peer over broad shoulders at the embarrassing sound he makes. He shoves himself up from the table and breathes through his nose until he can swallow properly, hurriedly turning back into the shop and giving his dishes back to the owner, thanking him hastily and rushing out past the man, ignoring his gaze and the giggles of the young women on the opposite side. 

As he walks as fast as he can back towards the inn, he can’t help but feel unnerved. Something about those eyes seems vaguely familiar, haunting in the back of his mind. He shakes his head and squares his shoulders, only then realizing that Hoseok had disappeared again, right after he entered the shack for food.

———

The early morning sun streams in through the window, and Taehyung groans sleepily and tosses an arm over his eyes to block out the brightness. His chest feels heavy and his throat is dry. When he opens one eye to sit up and grab some water, he realizes that Hoseok is straddling his bare chest, rocking side to side like a child on a log. 

“What the hell,” he croaks, more annoyed than surprised. Hoseok perks up and grins widely, only adding to the painful glow of the room in the morning light. He leans forward and pats Taehyung’s cheeks before pinching them and pulling his face into a smile too. 

“Good morning! Lovely day! Today is the day!” Taehyung bats Hoseok’s hands away and groans, rolling onto his side and taking Hoseok with him. The little spirit plops onto the mattress with an _oof_ , but it doesn't deter him long. He pops back up and replaces his hands on Taehyung’s face, squishing and kneading the skin into funny expressions and giggling at the result. Taehyung opens one eye and glares at Hoseok’s beaming face, petulantly shaping his mouth into a frown and squeezing his eyes shut again. 

“Wake up, wake up, wake up, there are things to do. Today you become a soldier!” Hoseok shoves at Taheyung’s shoulders until he’s forced to sit up and smack the spirit away. He rubs at his eyes and yawns loudly, stretching his hands up to the ceiling and hearing a few satisfying pops in his joints. His ass and legs are horribly sore, and he squeaks at the pull he feels in his legs when he rolls out of bed. Groaning, he shifts around to stretch out the tightness as best he can. After a moment he straightens and shuffles over to where a pitcher of water and a bowl rest on the dresser, sticking his head in the bowl and pouring water directly over it before he can think better of it. He massages the cool water over his scalp and face before patting it dry with a worn out looking towel resting beside the bowl, but he forgets about the dye in his hair and gasps when he sees black streaks on the towel. He whips around to Hoseok, who is swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. 

“Is it gone? Did I wash it out?” He tries to keep his voice steady. If he’s already wasted ink before he’s even started training, how is he supposed to keep the process up? 

“No,” Hoseok chuckles, hopping to the floor, “you can use each application for about a week if you’re careful about not scrubbing your hair.” He reaches up and pulls Taehyung’s dripping head down to his level, picking through his hair and humming to himself. “I don’t see any white spots, you’re still safe.” Taehyung exhales in relief, patting gingerly at his head with the towel, mentally apologizing to the ajumeoni for staining it. He cups more water in his palms and drinks it, scrunching his nose at the stale taste before tossing his shirt over his head and straightening his pants. He makes a soft sound of disgust when he catches a whiff of his clothes, smelling sour and sweaty, but he has no time to wash them. He’ll just have to deal with it until he’s given his new uniform. A dingy mirror hangs on one wall, showing a slightly distorted reflection as he runs his fingers through his hair, patting it down until it looks acceptable. He considers tying half of it back, but it’s too short to stay properly, so he settles for parting it on one side and letting it wave around his face. He gathers up his few belongings, shoving the empty food satchel into the one containing the ink, straightens the bed, and heads downstairs. 

The old woman is already sitting at her place when he gets there, despite the early hour. She looks up at him and smiles, asking if his room was satisfactory. He nods and pays her for it, leaving a bit extra for staining her towel, with just enough money remaining to grab breakfast on his way out. 

The orange sky is streaked with blinding white around the sun by the time he gets his things tethered to his horse, which he quickly mounts and urges towards the slowly awakening market. Only a few booths look to be fully set up, and fortunately, one of them sells scorched rice cakes and apples that look overripe, but Taehyung doesn’t have time or money to be picky. He slides down from Yongsa and quickly pays the merchant for his breakfast before plopping down on the ground and hastily eating while his horse noses at some grass by his knee. As he eats, Taehyung pulls out his scroll and scans it for his destination. Suddenly, he feels nervous. Very nervous. He wonders how many times one can realize the same thing and feel more terrified every time, because each time it dawns upon him the gravity of what he’s chosen to do, he feels queasy and gets a horrible urge to chew his lip, a habit his mother tried to get him to quit. 

At the thought of his mother, his heart sinks and brightens at the same time. He’s been missing for over a day now, and while his destination isn’t difficult to guess, he wonders if his family feels betrayed. Even if it was for his own father, he _had_ run away from home and straight into the jaws of potential death without so much as a proper goodbye. Taehyung thinks he might feel a bit betrayed had someone else done it to him. 

Hoseok appears suddenly next to him, tipping back and forth on his sit bones as he observes the sleepy street starting to wake, humming a tune too lively for so early in the morning. Taehyung just shakes his head, having given up questioning his behavior a while ago. 

“Do you eat?” he mumbles, mouth full of apple that’s a tad bit squishy. 

“Only for fun, I don’t need it to live like you do. I’m sort of dead, remember?” Hoseok sounds very happy for someone stating that he’s sort of dead, but Taehyung just nods in acceptance and doesn’t ask anything more. 

In just a moment he’s finished off his food, so he hops to his feet and pulls himself onto a sleepy Yongsa, whose big eyes are half lidded and somewhat annoyed as he glances back at Taehyung. Taehyung kicks his heels gently into his flanks and they settle into a trot. It's a bit too bouncy for Taehyung’s comfort, but he doesn’t think it would be good form to speed through the streets at a canter or gallop at such an early hour, and just walking wouldn’t be fast enough. He isn’t positive about the time, but he knows that by the time the colorful clouds fade to blue in the sky he should be at the address on his scroll. 

He expects to have more difficulty finding it, but there are many men who look like him heading in the same direction, either on foot or on horseback. Most of them are dressed plainly, like him, with just a few in nicer silks and outfits that look impractical for military training. Taehyung supposes the wealthier aren’t exempt from service to their country, and that makes him feel strange inside, like a subordinate and an equal at the same time. 

By the time the sun is high enough to not be directly in his eyes and orange mellows to blue over the mountains, Taehyung has arrived in a clearing full of men, the space suddenly alive with sounds and sights to see. Half of the men are dressed in basic armor, dark gray metal guarding most of their bodies, with just a few boasting bold red cloaks over their shoulders, like the man watching Taehyung yesterday. With yet another pang, he wonders if that man is here. Strangely, he almost hopes that he is. He feels it only fair that he gets a good look at someone who was obviously so keen on observing him. 

Taehyung hops down from Yongsa and loosely ties his reins to a nearby tree. He pats down his hair and straightens his clothes before squaring his shoulders and marching into the crowd. He gets in a line of what he thinks is the first stop, where civilian-dressed men like him are still holding their papers. The line moves quickly, and soon he’s standing in front of a squat little table where a bored looking soldier is bent over a massive scroll, lists of hundreds of names stretching over the paper. 

“Name?” He drawls, not even looking up at Taehyung. 

“Kim, my father is Sang Chul.” 

At this, the man looks up in surprise. “Sang Chul? I didn't know he had a son. He was quite a hero in the last war.” 

Taehyung tries to ignore the sting he feels at being a secret, but he supposes it’s better this way. If no one knows him, no one can accuse him of hiding a curse.

“He doesn’t talk about me much. He was injured in the last war, I am here to serve in his stead.” He holds his chin high, trying to look as impressive as possible. 

The man looks slightly amused at Taehyung’s efforts to look big, but he looks down and crosses off a name on the list. “Your own name?” 

“Taehyung, sir. Kim Taehyung.”

———

Over an hour and lots of jostling about later, Taehyung is standing awkwardly with an armful of heavy armor. He’s only been holding it for a few minutes, but he can already feel his muscles starting to tremble. 

He’s waiting for a tent to open up to change into his uniform. No one told him that there was one or where to find it, but he assumes there must be one if men are somehow changing into their new clothes once they receive them. Only a few times has he caught sight of some naked flesh, someone too indecent to change in privacy. 

Hesitantly, he taps a nearby man on the shoulder. He doesn’t look too mean, his countenance is actually stunningly beautiful when he turns to face Taehyung fully. He has huge plump lips and almond eyes that are perfectly shaped and sparkly. His jet black hair is tied in a knot on top of his head, stuck through with an expensive looking pin. He regards Taehyung with confusion when Taehyung just gapes after catching his attention, too taken with the man’s handsome features to say what he means to. 

“...Yes?” he prompts, and even his voice is beautiful. It’s smooth and patient, despite the gaping man in front of him. 

“U-uh, sorry, um, do you know where we’re supposed to change?” Taehyung hurriedly closes his mouth and looks down at the clothing and armor in his arms to move his attention somewhere other than the man’s intimidatingly attractive face. He doesn’t expect the man to respond with a laugh, loud and squeaky and much more high pitched than Taehyung would’ve expected. 

“Oh, poor boy. There isn’t a place to change, this is the military. We had better get comfortable with each other now, yes? Strip on down.” He gestures up and down Taehyung’s body, who immediately flushes and gulps. It isn’t that he’s ashamed of his body or anything, but he was not prepared to strip naked in front of all these strangers in his first hour of being a soldier. 

He looks around one last time for a place he could find some cover, but to no avail. Reluctantly, he dumps his armful of gear to the ground and toes off his shoes. Glancing around to make sure no one is paying attention to him, he tugs his pants down and steps out of them as quickly as he can. Somehow he gets them off without tripping, which he mentally pats himself on the back for. He pulls on the darker, thicker trousers of his uniform and ties them securely around his waist. Looking around at the generally broad, more muscular men surrounding him, he’s a bit embarrassed by his scrawny arms and soft stomach when he unties his wrap tunic and lets it fall to his feet before replacing it with his new one. It was clearly made for someone bigger than him; it slips down his shoulders a bit and exposes his collarbones and neck more than anyone else he sees. He tries to tie it tighter and only ends up pinching his stomach in, the tunic is simply too wide for him. He sighs and shoves his feet back into his boots, tucking his pants in and trying to make himself look neat despite his ill-fitting uniform. 

He stares with dismay at the pile of armor at his feet, deciding to leave that for later. Some of the men meandering about aren’t wearing it, he can just carry it until he needs to really put it on. 

If this is how just his first day of being a soldier is starting out when it’s barely begun, he can only imagine how the rest will be. 

He’s staring off into the distance and feeling sorry for himself, too distracted to notice a young man barreling towards him at top speed. He only sees him when the man trips over the armor laying at his feet and flies forward, landing on his face with a huff _._ Taehyung immediately goes to help him, an apology already ready on his tongue, but before he can even start, the fallen man leaps up and swings at Taehyung’s face with his fist, barely missing. 

“Ya! Move your fucking stuff! I could’ve broken something!” The man actually looks more like a boy, he can't be much older than Taehyung himself. Taehyung backs away, nearly tripping over his own things like the other boy had. 

“I’m s-sorry, I just set them-”

He doesn’t finish before the boy is stomping towards him and grabbing him by the collar. He’s a good few centimeters shorter than Taehyung, but he’s stocky and strong. He yanks him forward and tosses him to the ground unceremoniously. 

“Jimin-ah, that’s enough. The boy didn’t mean any harm.” Taehyung looks up to see the beautiful man, the one who had told him to change on the spot, reaching out a hand to the angry boy and patting him on the shoulder like he’s a dog. To Taehyung’s surprise, the boy listens. He wheels to face Taehyung, face still red and eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t look like he intends to punch Taehyung in the next few seconds, which is already an improvement from the moments prior. 

“Move your shit. I don’t know who you are, but don’t mess with me.” He has a thick guttural accent, one Taehyung has never heard before, but his voice sounds very boyish in contrast to how roughly he speaks. He’s short, but his shoulders are powerful and rounded under his tunic, the muscles of his chest rippling where they peek through in the front. A strong jaw and eyebrows are balanced by warm brown eyes that would be pleasant if they weren’t set in such a fierce expression, plush lips pressed into a frown and nostrils flared in annoyance. Taehyung feels a pang of insecurity, wondering if every man he’ll encounter at this damned camp is as attractive as the ones he’s already met. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s just got a temper.” The other man steps closer to Taehyung and offers him a hand, which he hesitantly accepts before being pulled easily to his feet. “I’m Seokjin, this lovely and approachable soul is Jimin. You are?” 

Taehyung again stares at the man, this time trying to process the last few minutes and how he managed to already piss off someone before he even tried to introduce himself. 

“Um, Taehyung, I’m Taehyung.”

“Well, Um Taehyung, it’s good to meet you. Now, I do recommend moving your things out of the way. I’m sure Jimin is not the only brash man in this vicinity, and it would be unfortunate for you to get on anyone else’s bad side.”

Taehyung continues staring, trying to process this man’s eloquent language, his voice smooth and musical in contrast to the harsh accent Jimin boasts. 

“Hyung, why can’t you just talk normal like the rest of us?” Jimin growls, cheeks puffing out in annoyance. 

“ _Speak normally,_ Jimin, not _talk normal_. If you insist on being crass, at least speak _properly.”_ Seokjin pinches Jimin’s cheek fondly, catching Taehyung off guard. The handsome man seems to have no fear of the little angry one. 

He feels out of place watching them bicker back and forth, so he turns slowly and scans the crowd, simply observing the men that he will be spending his foreseeable future with. 

His gut kicks when he lands on a pair of obsidian eyes already looking at him, coming from a sharp face that looks nearly as surprised as he feels. 

_He’s here._

Taehyung had expected as much, but actually meeting the piercing gaze of the man is a different feeling altogether. His stomach churns when realization, _recognition,_ stirs in his mind upon getting a proper look at him. The man that watched him in town yesterday is undoubtedly the same one whose gaze caused him to trip and humiliate himself in his presentation. He curses under his breath and spins around quickly, gluing his eyes to the ground. Only after such a swift and indiscreet movement does he remember that he had looked entirely different on the day of the parade. Kim Taehyung the soldier is certainly not very recognizable. His hair is now black instead of silver, and his face isn’t caked in white makeup that obscures his features from even the most observant onlookers. He feels a bit of relief at this, but it’s only slight. If he isn’t recognizable as the stupid clumsy white haired boy who has embarrassed himself in front of the entire village only a few weeks ago, why is this man so intent on staring at him? 

He doesn’t get much time to consider possible explanations before he’s being pulled back by the crowd, right in the direction of where the mysterious man stands. He quickly grasps his armor before it can be trampled on and turns around as best he can in the tight space between bodies. Next to the broad, intimidating man stands another, and this one is familiar too. He’s tiny in comparison, and Taehyung recognizes him as the scrawny, impish man who had handed out conscription notices. His beady eyes travel over the mass of men, a calculating expression making his thin lips puff out. 

“Listen up!” He calls out, his voice just as pinched and whiny as Taehyung remembers. Surprisingly, the men all around him listen, the roar of overlapping voices quickly simmering down to a barely audible murmur. 

“I am Hanjin, the official scribe and monitor sent by his Greatness the Emperor. This is Colonel Jeon.” Hanjin gestures flippantly at the bigger man. “He is your commanding officer for training, and will continue to be so upon your entrance into the Emperor’s esteemed military as full-fledged soldiers. You have all received your uniforms, so we will depart to the training site. If you do not have your own horse, line up in an orderly fashion and get one from the paddocks to your left. We leave in ten minutes.”

Without another word, Hanjin turns and climbs awkwardly onto a pale horse that looks nearly as stunted as he is, his skinny little arms reaching up to pull himself into the saddle. Colonel Jeon does the same, but his horse is sleek black and far larger. His blood red cloak billows in a large arc behind him as he swings gracefully into his saddle, scanning hawkish eyes over the group of men pushing at each other and trying to be the first to be ready to go. Taehyung hikes up his armor and stumbles over to the trees where Yongsa is still standing, dozing with his head against a tree. 

“Ya, wake up,” Taehyung mutters, slinging his gear over Yongsa’s back with a grunt before climbing clumsily onto his back. He doesn't have any stirrups, so despite his best efforts, he can’t pull off an impressive mount like the colonel had. He wheels Yongsa around and trots into the clearing, unsure of where to go. As one of the first to be mounted and ready to leave, he should probably move up near the front, but he’s shy about getting close to Colonel Jeon. As much as he would like to sidle right up next to him and demand an explanation for his staring, just the thought of actually doing so makes his stomach roll. He settles for hanging at the back of the few men who are already there. 

A few moments later, once all the men are mounted, the two leaders wheel around and set off in a gallop through the woods. Taehyung kicks his heels into Yongsa’s sides and tries to spread out enough from the others so he doesn’t brush their legs with his own. They ride at a brisk pace for what Taehyung can only guess is about twenty minutes on a hard packed path through the trees, thick foliage matted like a canopy overhead.

The trees suddenly stop and they’re in a huge expanse of gentle hills and fields, the sun shining intensely overhead. To Taehyung’s right, a camp is set up, numerous piles of what look like tent materials spaced out around an already standing, large tent. It’s made of thick white canvas and must be twice as tall as Taehyung, wide and several meters long. One flap at the front is tied back, but Taehyung can’t get a glimpse of what’s inside from his distance and angle. 

“Dismount, your horses will be kept in the fields behind the camp. Choose a tent and leave your things by it, you will assemble them after the meal.” Hanjin slips down from his horse and ties it to a short pole at the front of the big tent before dipping inside, followed by the colonel. Taehyung follows the rest of the men to a huge paddock behind the camp, enormous tubs of water big enough to swim in sitting periodically against the fence. Taehyung rides through the open gate before sliding to the ground, slinging all of his belongings over his shoulder and tugging Yongsa’s bridle off, giving him an affectionate pat to the rump as he ambles off to join the other horses. 

Taehyung wanders about looking for an unclaimed tent, his gear weighing heavy on his shoulders. He finds one near the edge of the forest and dumps his things by the folded canvas and poles laying neatly on the ground. He arches his back and stretches, feeling the ache in his shoulders from riding and carrying his things around. 

_I must really be pathetic,_ he thinks, _if just lugging one person’s worth of armor a few hundred yards made me sore._ As he rights himself and bends over to reach for his toes, he catches sight of Jimin setting his things by the tent nearest to his, and his stomach sinks a little bit. Jimin is one of the two acquaintances he’s made in his short time here, and his relationship with Taehyung is less than favorable. Maybe Taehyung can try to offer a new start.

He’s about to step forward and offer an apology when a tinny gong sounds in the center of the camp. Taehyung notices for the first time the wafting smell of soup, and his eyes land on a massive pot of it set in front of the center tent, flames occasionally licking the sides of it when they snake up from underneath. A line of men is already forming, jostling each other and staring hungrily at the bubbling stew. 

Taehyung makes his way over, quietly taking his place in the line and letting himself be elbowed back a few places, easily pushed around by the clearly fitter men he’s surrounded with. He finds himself standing behind Seokjin, and notices for the first time how _broad_ the man is. He’s not as muscular as Jimin and some of the others, but his shoulders are incredibly wide and strong looking, and he holds himself with a regality that makes Taehyung feel small. 

“Where did you choose your tent?” Taehyung realizes Seokjin is talking to him. The man must thinks he’s dumb for how often he’s caught gaping and spacing out in his presence. 

“Sorry? Oh, um, over by the trees, Seokjin-ssi,” he bows his head, trying to hide the flush rising in his cheeks. The man in front of him makes him feel inferior, but then he bursts into a giggle, clear and light and as musical as his speech. 

“Please, call me hyung. No need for formalities here, you may someday save my life. Or…” Seokjin scans up and down Taehyung’s thin body, “The other way around, perhaps. Might as well be friendly, yes?” 

Taehyung nods hurriedly, turning to his side and snatching two ceramic bowls from the stacks that sit neatly by the pot of stew. He bows and hands one to Seokjin, who accepts it with a smile. He really is beautiful, so intimidating in a way that Taehyung has never encountered before. 

_Please call me hyung._

He has never, not once, called anyone hyung. No one has ever granted him the permission to do so, and it makes his insides feel fluttery inside. 

“Seokjin-ss — hyung,” He looks up and corrects himself, seeing another small grin play at Seokjin's plump lips, “May I ask how old you are? Hyung?” He cringes internally. He may be overdoing it, but he can’t help that he’s excited. The word _hyung_ rolls nicely off his tongue and makes him feel giddy. 

“I’m twenty-six. And you, Taehyung? It is Taehyung, right?” 

Taehyung nods fervently and grins, the bashfulness melting away and turning into something like excitement. “I’m twenty.” He resists the sudden urge to bounce on his toes. As elated as he may be at having someone he can perhaps call a friend, he must contain himself. He’s a soldier now, not a child. 

Seokjin hums. By this time they’ve moved up to the pot of stew, and Seokjin takes the ladle and holds it out to Taehyung, who feels like he may very nearly burst into tears. 

“Thank you, hyung,” he says as Seokjin fills his bowl, taking two rolls from a large basket on the ground and plopping one into Taehyung’s hand. He fights the urge to hyperventilate, because his first friend _gave him food._ He follows Seokjin like a puppy to a tent that must be his and settles cross-legged on the ground with his bowl in his lap. He waits for Seokjin to dip his roll in the soup before following suit. The food is somewhat bland, not seasoned enough, but it’s hearty and he knows its purpose is nourishment and not enjoyment. 

Someone flops to the ground between Seokjin and him, and Taehyung gulps when he looks up to see Jimin. The boy sticks out his feet in front of him and shoves his entire roll into his mouth at once, dipping his head in greeting to Seokjin, giving a side glare to Taehyung, who stares into his bowl nervously and clears his throat. 

“Jimin-ssi, where did you choose your tent?” Taehyung squeaks even though he already knows, making an attempt at a truce. Jimin just turns his head to look at him and rolls his eyes, chewing loudly around his roll. 

“Why do you care, huh?” He tries to say, but it’s muffled by the food in his mouth. He doesn’t look as scary and tough when his cheeks are puffed out with bread. 

“Uh, I-I’m just making conversation. Sorry for, you know, tripping you.” Taehyung figures it’s better to just get it over with. 

“Whatever, we’re good, just keep better track of your shit.” Jimin’s speech is clearer now as he swallows his food, bringing his bowl to his lips and slurping it loudly. Taehyung wrinkles his nose at his lack of etiquette, but he snickers when Seokjin leans over and flicks Jimin on the forehead, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. 

They finish their food in silence, rising in unison to take them back to the center of the camp, where the fire and pot of soup has been replaced by a huge tub of water, clearly meant for washing their dishes. Seokjin and Jimin plunge their bowls into it, and Taehyung follows, but he must have done it at a bad angle because somehow, his bowl launches a splash of dirty water directly into the face of a burly man across from him. The man splutters and curses, shoving his bowl into the water and rising to his feet, yanking Taehyung over by the collar before he can even apologize. 

Distantly, Taehyung wonders if all men are as hot tempered and angry as this one and Jimin as the man lands a sharp smack straight across his face. He gasps as his neck whips to the side, an unfamiliar ache flaring in his cheek. In a second, two strong looking hands loop around the man’s neck and pull him backward, leaving Taehyung to wilt to the ground as he cradles his face with one trembling hand. When he looks up, he sees Jimin straddling the far bigger man’s chest, landing a powerful punch to his jaw. The man yelps and bucks up, tossing Jimin over his shoulders where he lands with a thud. Taehyung groans and hangs his head, but it’s only for a breath before someone is pulling him up by the collar and punching his stomach. Chaos breaks loose, men without any real quarrel lunging for each other with yells and fists outreached. Taehyung finds himself in the center of it all, hit after hit rattling his bones and scraping across his skin. He shields his body as best he can, whimpering and covering his head. This must be how he dies, he hasn’t even gotten through his first day and he’s already a dead man. 

A shrill whistle sounds through the air, and Taehyung feels the blows stop. He gasps for air, a sharp pain in his ribs, and digs his fingers into the dirt to ground himself as he feels men all around him untangle and try to get to their feet. 

When he lifts his head, he sees Hanjin and Colonel Jeon standing with their arms crossed, expressions unreadable. Hanjin looks up expectantly at the other man, as if gauging how he’s going to handle this. The colonel steps forward, jaw muscles tensing, dark eyes glittering fiercely. 

“Who started this?” His voice is harsh and loud, making Taehyung flinch. He hangs his head, knowing that the burly man he splashed must be pointing at him. When he looks up again, he sees a pair of heavy boots standing right in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I accidentally s-splashed him when cleaning my b-bowl,” he stutters, rising to his knees but keeping his head bowed reverently. For a moment, he gets no response, no slap to the head, not even a twitch from the boots he stares at. 

“Your name, boy?” The colonel speaks less harshly, his tone deeper and more even. 

“T-Taehyung, sir, Kim Taehyung.” Taehyung kicks himself internally for sounding so pathetic and afraid. 

“Get to your feet.” The previously sharp voice is soft now, almost a whisper. “Listen up, all of you.” It’s loud again, but not as angry. Taehyung scrambles to stand, hissing when his gut twists with nausea. 

“There is no place for fighting here, do I make myself clear?” The colonel paces in front of the men, his cloak swaying behind him. “You are soldiers, this behavior will not be tolerated. Your anger? It’s good, save it for battle.” Taehyung thinks that the sudden coolness in the man’s voice is more terrifying than if he was yelling and cursing at them, at _him_. 

“You _will_ work together, this army cannot function if you do not. If you think that will be an issue for you, turn your back and leave this instant. I would rather you be beheaded for desertion than bring your quarrels into this force and risk the future of our country.” He stops and turns to face the men, scanning them and waiting for anyone to leave. When no one does, the head of each man hanging low, he nods. 

“Good. Now, finish cleaning up and go set up your tents.” 

———

Taehyung has a horrible time trying to assemble his tent, the poles constantly tipping over and the canvas fluttering into a heap on the ground. After well over an hour, he’s close to crying out of frustration; his body hurts almost everywhere, and he still feels the acidic burn of humiliation itching in his throat. He may not have been punished, but he was made a fool, a _weak_ fool in front of his commanding officer before he even knew his name. He collapses on the ground and considers just sleeping in the pile of canvas under the open sky, but he reminds himself that the inevitable night rain won’t be merciful if he does. He looks over and sees Jimin, his tunic sleeves rolled to his elbows and forearm muscles flexing as he tosses the canvas haphazardly over his frame of poles. 

Taehyung bites the inside of his cheek and scrunches his nose, swallowing any pitiful remnant of pride he may have had and getting to his feet with a grunt. He limps over to Jimin with his head hung low, silent as he kneels on the side opposite him and gathers fabric in his hands to straighten it before pulling it tight. Jimin doesn’t notice him until they both stand, their eyes barely meeting over the peaked top of the tent. 

“Can I help you?” Jimin’s voice is gruff, but he sounds more sarcastic than angry. His left eye is a bit swollen, ringed with purple, and Taehyung feels guilt turn in his gut. 

“Uh, a-actually, yes, if you could maybe help me with my tent?” Taehyung glances back at the sad little mess of materials, then looks imploringly at Jimin. “I can’t get it right, and yours looks so nice…” 

Jimin rolls his eyes and glares at Taehyung, but only for a moment before he rounds his tent and walks off towards Taehyung’s. 

He instructs Taehyung on what to do, easily tossing around poles that Taehyung struggles to lift, but he doesn’t sound as condescending in his directions as Taehyung might’ve expected. It gives him the courage to say something that’s been weighing on his mind for hours. 

“Jimin-ssi, can I ask you something?” Taehyung starts timidly, picking at the edge of the canvas in his hands with his nails. Jimin looks up and raises his eyebrows as if to say _spit it out._

“W-why did you help me earlier? When that big man attacked me, you pulled him back. Why?” Taehyung exhales and watches Jimin carefully for a reaction, not sure what he expects in response. Jimin is silent for a moment, looking at his hands, and if Taehyung didn’t know better he might say that Jimin looks slightly embarrassed at having been caught being nice _._

“I think you’re a clumsy, scrawny idiot,” Taehyung’s eyes widen, he didn’t expect _that._

“But,” Jimin’s voice gets softer. “It wasn’t fair. He was way bigger than you, and I could see that you didn’t mean to splash him.” Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, but Jimin silences him with a glare. “Before you say it, because I know you were about to, you didn’t mean to trip me either, I guess. I have a temper and I know it, but maybe it… wasn’t quite justified for me to get so pissed off with you.” Jimin’s eyes lower to the ground, and Taehyung’s heart skips in his chest. He thinks this is the closest thing to a reconciliation he’s going to get, and he’ll happily take it. 

“I am clumsy, you’re right. I didn't ever really have friends at home, I don’t know how to act around all these people. Especially when I feel like they’re all way ahead of me. Like you, you’re strong and fast and you built your tent so well. I don’t know how to do any of those things and I-” 

Taehyung looks across and sees Jimin blushing violently, hanging his head low to try to conceal it. He decides to stop talking before he makes the other boy regret helping him. 

“It’s nothing, really. I did a lot of labor where I come from, I’m just built this way. I’m not… not good with people, either. Never really had much use for ‘em.” Jimin’s cheeks are nearly crimson at this point, but Taehyung doesn’t comment on it. He takes mercy on the clearly uncomfortable boy and doesn’t say anything more, gripping the canvas in his hands and flinging it over the sturdy frame of poles that they (Jimin) built. Soon, it’s staked down tightly and securely. Jimin stretches his arms over his back and yawns, looking at the rapidly setting sun. 

“Thanks,” Taehyung says simply, rolling his neck side to side, still feeling achy from the scuffle earlier. 

“Yeah. Dinner is soon.” With that, Jimin turns on his heel and strides into the orange glow of the low sun over the horizon. 

———

Jeongguk paces inside his tent. It’s more spacious than the others, perhaps a bit bare, but he doesn’t need much. As the officer in the camp and the man officially tasked with training the new soldiers, he gets the largest quarters. His tent sits alone behind the largest one, which houses the storage space, the strategizing room, and Hanjin’s quarters. That slinky, slimy shrimp of a man serves no purpose other than to monitor Jeongguk’s every breath and report back of his success or failure to his higher-ups. Namely, his father. Just the thought makes Jeongguk’s stomach turn over, threatening to reject the supper he just ate while reviewing his training plans. 

He plops onto his low sitting, thin mattress and hangs his head in his hands. Already, just on the first day, his men broke out into a fight. _Kim Taehyung,_ of all people, had been the one to apparently start it. Jeongguk wonders, and has been wondering since it happened, if he should’ve been harsher. He was prepared to punish whoever was causing trouble, but when he looked upon the trembling, cowering frame of a boy, he found it hard to convince himself that that boy was really a man intending to start a fight. When that boy raised huge, honey brown eyes fighting back tears to his own, he nearly forgot how to speak. 

Just his luck that it would be _him._ He had found himself surprised enough when the very boy that had caught his attention in town the day before appeared in his camp, wearing a soldier’s uniform One that was too big for him, hanging loose around his thin frame and doing a poor job of covering his shoulders and sharp, enticing collarbones —

 _No. Stop it, Jeongguk._ He shakes his head and digs his nails into his palms. He cannot be having thoughts like that about one of his men, someone he doesn’t know at all. 

_He wants to know him._

Jeongguk stands and starts removing his armor until he’s down to a plain black tunic and pants. He was told to wear the full getup today, he has to appear impressive on the first day after all. The heavy armor is unnecessary for agility and conditioning exercises; lightweight clothes are perfectly sufficient for most of the training. He scoffs to himself when he thinks of how skinny some of his recruits are, Taehyung included. The poor boy looks like he would bend in half with a sharp gust of wind. Jeongguk absently wonders what it would be like to be that gust of wind. 

He shakes his head again and drags a hand down his face, untying his shirt with the other. It’s hot out, he’s just going to sleep with pants on. He runs his fingers through his hair, praying to his ancestors silently that he’s up to the task set before him. He knows it’s an enormous honor, an enormous _responsibility_ to be handed the weight of shaping brand new men into successful soldiers, and he wonders if it may be too much for him alone. Any failure will be amplified by the fact that many of his fellow soldiers already think he’s undeserving of his position. It will reflect badly on his father and his name. Some consider being a colonel at twenty-four to be an enormous accomplishment and honor, something to be revered and admired. Truthfully, Jeongguk thinks it’s hell. He’s terrified of letting his father down, bringing disgrace to everything he’s built up. 

He splashes his face with water and flops into his bed, rolls up in the thin blanket, and drifts into a fitful sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Before the Dawn

Taehyung wakes up to the sound of a gong at the entrance of his tent. He flies up with a start before sinking back down, groaning at his sore muscles and the pain still pounding in his ribs. When he collects himself and peers outside, it’s hardly light, the morning just barely gray. He sees Hanjin prancing around, banging his gong too enthusiastically, earning groans and curses from the men as he wakes them up. 

Taehyung slaps himself on the cheek a few times before crawling out of his tent. Breakfast is already prepared, the same huge pot from supper planted in front of the big tent. Behind it stands Colonel Jeon, this time dressed in a plain wrap tunic and trousers, his feet bare. His posture is the same as yesterday, arms crossed and watching everything with an observant gaze. 

The camp is quiet as the men gather and eat their food, many dozing off and finding their faces in their bowls of rice. Taehyung tries to ignore the fact that the colonel still seems to have some fascination with watching him, and it makes him feel oddly self conscious. 

When everyone has had adequate time to finish, they gather around where Colonel Jeon stands, and by this time he’s procured a bow and arrow. Without explanation, he aims it at a tall, thick pole set in front of the central tent and snaps the bowstring, sending the arrow flying up until it lands easily at the top of the pole. He drops the bow in the grass and exchanges it for a pair of bronze weights, heavy balls of metal with a rope connecting them. 

“Let’s get down to business. Welcome to your first official day of training.” The man’s voice is husky from sleep, and it makes Taehyung’s hands tingle. “Your first challenge is to retrieve that arrow. You must use the weights, or it will not count.” He drops the weights at the feet of a tall, wiry man to Taheyung’s left before stepping back and recrossing his arms. The man picks them up and wraps them around one of his ankles, taking a few dragged steps towards the pole before leaping up and wrapping his arms around it, grappling for any sort of purchase on the smooth, weathered wood. Almost immediately he slips right back to the ground with a grunt, dropping his head as he kicks off the weights and moves to the back of the line that’s formed. 

Jimin is next, his grin cocky as he slings the weights over one shoulder. He makes it farther than the first man, getting a few feet from the ground before he starts to slide back down. He grunts and his arms bulge under his thin tunic as he digs his fingers into the pole, but it’s no use. 

And so it goes. Every man has varying degrees of success, but none make it far before they ultimately end up in a heap at the foot of the pole. At the very end of the line, watching them all, Taehyung is wringing his hands nervously. Since no one else has been successful it won’t be too embarrassing if he fails, but there must be a solution if this challenge was assigned. If it’s based on strength alone, Taehyung knows he doesn’t stand a chance. Some part of him desperately wants to show this colonel that he can do well, that there’s more to him than his skinny arms and unimposing figure. 

When it comes to his turn, the last man, he stares at the weights for a moment before he picks them up, cupping them in his hands and feeling their heft in his palms. He thinks back to his refuge in the forest at home, how he was able to easily clamber up tall trees without hesitation. Once, he had been playing with a paper kite and the wind carried it to the top of a tall, smooth tree that had no branches until the very top, not too much unlike this pole. He wonders if he can use the same technique he had used then to retrieve the arrow now. 

It’s worth a shot. 

Colonel Jeon looks exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he watches Taehyung contemplate. Now he feels even more pressure to prove himself, he can’t be the last man to let the colonel down. He takes a deep breath and steels his nerves before swinging one of the weights around the pole, the connecting rope wrapped around the back, catching it in his free hand so that he has one in each. Using all the strength he can muster, he whips his arms up and slides the rope up the pole before bracing his foot against the base of it, leaning back until he’s holding his body with the tension of the rope. He takes another step up the pole and slips the rope up more, trying not to think about how precarious it feels to be leaning almost horizontally with only the power of his arms holding him up. He takes step after step, slowly but surely making his way up the pole. As he nears the top, he hears cheers from Seokjin, soon joined by Jimin, then by many more. 

His arms are shaking by the time he reaches the flat top of the thick pole, and he gasps as he lets go of one weight and darts his hand up to catch the top before he can fall. He grunts and pulls himself up to sit on the flat surface, chest heaving and droplets of sweat traveling down his spine as he sighs in relief. He reaches between his legs and yanks out the arrow, clamping it between his teeth before dropping the weights down to the ground with a heavy thud. He turns around and wraps his arms around the pole, his hands just able to clasp together, sliding down it until his feet hit the solid surface of the ground. He takes another deep breath before stepping forward and bowing to the colonel, extending the arrow out in both hands. The officer takes it, a strange look of curious astonishment on his face.

“Well done, Kim Taehyung.” His voice is smooth, rich, beautiful. 

Taehyung stands and bows deeply to him before stepping back into the line of men, who are whispering among themselves. 

Taehyung grins to himself at the pride blooming in his chest. _Well done, Kim Taehyung._ If he can smart his way through the rest of training like he had this task, perhaps things won’t be so bad. 

———

Things are bad. 

Very bad. 

If Taehyung had expected to get through training based on his brain, he doesn’t anymore. 

The fact of it is, he’s simply too weak for combat and physical fighting. He may have been able to complete the first challenge without too much of a struggle, but that is the only thing he’s succeeded at thus far. Yesterday, he somehow punched himself in the face instead of Jimin during hand to hand fighting. The day before, he tripped over his own feet and face planted straight into the river instead of learning to stealthily glide under the surface. He can’t get through the ropes course, his arms giving out before he’s even halfway through. He’s not fast when he runs, he’s not heavy enough to swing a sword with any power, and he’s no good at archery. He may have thought on that first day that he could make it through, but he thinks differently now. So does Colonel Jeon, apparently, casting disappointed glances in his direction every time he inevitably messes up, glances that weigh heavy on Taehyung and make his insides curl up. At first, his few friends and his peers teased him, but now they just look at him with pity. Even Jimin doesn’t poke fun at him anymore, instead just clicking his tongue sadly at him every time he fails. Seokjin tries to comfort him, says he’ll get better, but it’s been two weeks and he sees no improvement in himself. It doesn’t help that Seokjin is good at everything, effortlessly succeeding in every task he puts his hands to. He says it’s because of his education from growing up in a wealthy family, but that doesn’t make Taehyung feel any better. 

He wonders how much worse it can get. He’s sitting by a nearby creek he had found several days ago, late into the night, cradling a bottle of ink in his hands. This is the second time he’s had to do this alone, and both times have been in the middle of the night to avoid any fear of being caught. He’s exhausted, sore, and very discouraged. A distant roll of thunder sounds over his head, and he figures he should get this over with before it starts pouring on him in the middle of the forest. That would truly be too much, he thinks. 

It’s an arduous process. He had combed his hair thoroughly in his tent before he came, so it lays flat and smooth against his head without any tangles. He kneels in the sand at the edge of the water and sticks his head out as far as he can before he tips the jar of ink over his hair. It’s cold and slimy, but he reaches up with his free hand and rubs it into the strands before it can creep down to his face. He does this on each part of his head until he thinks he’s covered every bit, if the uncomfortably wet clumps of black hair poking his face and neck are any indication. With a dramatic sigh, he plunges his inky hands into the water and scrubs them fervently until they’re no longer stained black, and by then, it’s time to wash the dye out. The muscles in his arms ache even more than they did from training, feeling so heavy that it takes all of his willpower to lift them again. He tips his head forward until his hair is swept up in the water, the current carrying dark inky swirls away. 

When he sees the shimmering reflection of his own face in the water, his heart twists with a memory of words he had written long ago when feeling particularly weighed down with loneliness. He starts to hum softly to himself, his deep baritone voice putting a melody to the words. 

_Whose is the face I see, staring straight back at me?_

He massages his fingers gently over his scalp, careful not to remove too much. 

_Why is my reflection someone I don’t know?_

When the water next to him runs clear, he sits up and tosses his head back and forth, flinging droplets in every direction.

_Somehow I cannot hide who I am, though I’ve tried._

He looks at his reflection in the shining surface of the water, a sad smile pulling at his lips. 

_When will my reflection show who I am inside?_

He’s about to sigh and get to his feet when a small stone falls down the bank behind him and splashes into the water. Taehyung snaps his eyes up and his stomach drops when he sees Colonel Jeon standing there, eyes wide and a flush quickly rising in his cheeks. 

“D-Daeryeong-nim, I didn’t see you there,” Taehyung stutters, heart kicking at his ribs in panic. Had the colonel seen what he was doing? How long has he been standing there? He quickly inspects his reflection, and thankfully, there are no spots or patches that he can see. 

“I apologize, I didn’t want to disturb you.” The colonel averts his eyes as if he’s embarrassed, but he doesn’t look as shocked as Taehyung would expect from someone that had seen his true nature. 

“How long were you standing there?” Taehyung asks, and it comes out more accusatory than he was intending. The colonel takes a step back and laces his fingers together in front of his chest. 

“Not long at all, I heard you singing and it sounded really nice and I…”

He trails off, still avoiding Taehyung’s gaze. “I apologize again.” He bows curtly before turning on his heel and hurrying back into the trees, leaving Taehyung astounded and dripping water all over himself. Taehyung stares at the empty tree line for a moment before he closes his mouth and finds the energy to stand up and trudge back in the direction of the camp. 

After fifteen minutes, he plops into his tent in the dark, still wallowing in self pity and the nerves from coming so close to being caught. Just as he does so, a heavy rain breaks loose and starts pounding relentlessly against the canvas overhead. Thank the gods he missed that, he thinks begrudgingly to himself. He’s nearing sleep when a warm, small hand touches the small of his back and he jumps, swallowing a yelp. Hoseok plops down next to him without a greeting, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Where have you been, huh? Could have used your help these last few weeks. Had to dye my hair all on my own, too.” Taehyung tries to sound bitter, but he really sounds more defeated. Hoseok hangs his head, looking remorseful. 

“I should have told you earlier, but I can’t really help you much here. I’m more of a… companion, if you will.” Hoseok hesitantly lays a hand on Taehyung’s knee, as if he expects him to swat it away, but he doesn’t. “If I helped you through training, it would defeat the purpose. You have to do it yourself, grow yourself.” Hoseok chuckles listlessly. “Trust me, it’s not enjoyable for me to watch you struggle, but things would turn out much worse if I interfered. I’m sorry I haven’t been around, I failed at even the companion part of my job.” 

Taehyung tries to find it in himself to be upset at the spirit’s absence, but he can’t. 

“You’re the only one who knows about me. I wish I could tell someone, you know, explain why I’m not good at talking to people or physically experienced.” Taehyung fingers absently at a stray bottle of half-used ink laying on the ground, the rest stashed away in a pack behind him. “I have a friend. Two, maybe. It feels like I’m lying to them without even saying anything, like I’m fake.” Taehyung flicks the bottle away and watches it roll towards the edge of the tent. 

“Hoseok?” His voice is soft, hesitant. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you think Seokjin and Jimin would still be my friends if they knew my hair is white?” Hoseok squeezes his knee, trying to soothe some of the uncertainty clear in the boy’s voice. 

“I think so, they get the rare opportunity to know what you’re like as a person without seeing your hair first.” Taehyung is quiet for a moment, picking at the seam of his trousers. 

“Hoseok?”

“Yes?” 

“Do you think Colonel Jeon likes boys?” Taehyung’s voice is barely above a whisper this time. 

“Hm, I think you should figure that one out for yourself.” There’s a bit of the usual mirth creeping back into Hoseok’s voice, enough to make him sound like he already knows and is just waiting for Taehyung to catch up, the same tone he had used when telling Taehyung how he should color his hair. 

“Are you ever straightforward about anything?” Taehyung sighs, turning an exasperated expression on his guardian. 

“Yes!” Hoseok grins at this, that flicker of mischief returning in his eyes. “Get your ass out of your pity party and try harder. You’re weak, you won’t become strong in just two weeks. Use your mind.” Hoseok flicks Taehyung sharply on the temple, making him yelp. “You used your brain and got it right that first day, yeah? You can’t think your way to being muscular, but you can be smarter about how you work on getting there. Watch people like Jimin. What does he do that you don’t?” 

“Have big muscles,” Taehyung mumbles, glaring at Hoseok. 

“Well, yes, that, but he also trains to maintain them! Practices! Spends his free time improving! You should do the same. Is that straightforward enough?” Hoseok looks pleased with himself as usual, a sharp shift from behaving like a kicked puppy just a few minutes earlier. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes and falls back onto his sorry excuse for a bed. 

“Hoseok?” 

“Yes?”

“I think I like Colonel Jeon.”

“I inferred as much, yes.” 

Taehyung huffs and turns to lay his head into Hoseok’s lap, pouting as he stares up at the peak of his tent. 

“Do you think he’ll like me better if I become strong?”

“Maybe. If I were him, I would like you better if you didn’t suck so much at everything.” Taehyung elbows Hoseok hard in the stomach, whether spirits can feel pain or not. All it does is earn him a giggle. 

“Shut up. I’m going to learn to not suck at everything so that he’ll like me. Now, delightful as your company has been, go away. I’m going to sleep.” Taehyung rolls off of Hoseok’s lap and cocoons himself in his blanket, clearly done with the conversation. Hoseok chuckles to himself and pops out of the tent to wherever he goes when he’s not with Taehyung, leaving him alone with just his thoughts and the chirping of crickets outside. 

Only a few hours later he’s awoken by Hanjin banging his gong, a noise he’s become somewhat accustomed to over the past few weeks. This morning, he sits bolt upright, wide awake, purpose flooding his veins. Unlike most days when he struggles to force himself out of his tent, he quickly pulls on his clothes and steps out into the misty gray of the morning. Today, he will impress Colonel Jeon. He’s set the standard for himself exceptionally low, so it can’t possibly be hard to do better, right? 

He struts to the center of camp, the first man there to eat breakfast. As always, Colonel Jeon is standing with his arms crossed, feet bare, jaw set in an intense expression that makes Taehyung’s spine tingle. He follows Taehyung with his dark eyes as he comes closer, giving him a curt nod in greeting. Taehyung smiles and bows before taking his breakfast back to his tent where he shovels it down and is also the first man to wash his dishes. Fifteen minutes later when it’s time to gather, he’s already sitting cross-legged in the damp grass before anyone else gets there, waiting for the colonel to emerge from the tent with whatever they’ll be learning today. Jimin stares at him curiously when he plops down next to Taehyung, but he doesn’t say anything. Seokjin sits down gracefully at his other side, and Taehyung hears him start to greet him and ask what has him looking so chipper today, but the man’s voice, beautiful as it may be, fades into a murmur when Taehyung beholds the most astounding thing he’s ever seen. 

Colonel Jeon is shirtless. 

“Oh my,” Taehyung breathes, cutting into the middle of whatever Seokjin is saying, but he doesn’t notice nor care, because in front of him stands Colonel Jeon, barefoot as usual, but wearing only a pair of beige trousers rolled up to his calves. In his left hand he holds a long, polished staff, probably about as tall as him. Taehyung feels his jaw go slack, but he can’t seem to close it. 

Colonel Jeon is _godly_. His shoulders are broad, with sharp collar bones sloping gracefully over them. His torso and sides ripple with taut muscle at each slight movement, making Taehyung have to bite his lip to keep in a whine. The pants he’s wearing don’t hang particularly low, but defined v-lines can be seen peeking over the waistband. His skin is golden and tan, marred with little constellations of white scars, and his wavy black hair is pulled back into a small bun at the back of his head. Taehyung doesn’t notice that his jaw has essentially dropped to the ground until Jimin smacks the bottom of his chin, clacking his teeth together sharply. Taehyung glares at him for ruining his moment of gawking at the man standing before him, but it’s just as well, because the colonel is speaking. 

“Today you will learn bo staff. Mastery of this weapon requires grace, precision, and coordination.” Taehyung sighs; he has none of those things. He’ll have to try to acquire them in the next five minutes. “Your staffs are to the side of this tent. Grab one each and spread out in the field with three armspans between you.” He turns and walks towards the field, his sculpted back muscles tensing and releasing with each step. 

“I’ll do it with my shirt on, fucking pretty boy,” Jimin growls, shoving to his feet with a scowl on his face. 

“He’s just jealous that the colonel is more built than him,” Seokjin teases in a sing-song voice, rising to his feet and holding out a hand for Taehyung, who takes it with his eyes still glued on the shrinking silhouette of the colonel walking into the sunrise. When he doesn’t make a move to walk, Seokjin taps him on the cheek and sticks his face in front of Taehyung’s. 

“Ya, earth to Taehyung. If you have a crush on the man or something, go after him and prove yourself, don’t just gawk. It isn’t a becoming look on you.” 

“Right, yes. Training. Sorry hyung, I’m just uh, watching the sunrise. Yes, the sunrise.” 

Seokjin quirks an unconvinced eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything more as he walks off to get a staff. Taehyung stands and trots after him, plucking up a staff that looks about the right length before finding a space in the field. He watches as closely as he can as Colonel Jeon instructs them, gracefully swinging the staff over his head, around his body, spinning it in front of his chest, thrusting it forward and sweeping it in an uppercut. Taehyung must have chosen too long of a staff, because he nearly lands a downward strike right on Jimin’s head, missing by a hair as the shorter man ducks to the side with a curse. Taehyung apologizes, blushing, backing up to give himself a wider berth. He catches the colonel giving him a side eye, making him blush harder. He positions his hands two fists apart and tries again, this time attempting an uppercut, but his grip is too high, causing one end of his staff to catch the ground and send the opposite end bouncing into Taehyung’s temple. He squeaks, pressing his knuckles to the throbbing area, but he quickly repositions his hands and tries again despite the ache in his head. This time he cuts it too close and brushes the staff over his ear, making it sting, but it’s an improvement. 

“Kim Taehyung!” 

He freezes, face twisted in concentration in the middle of an uppercut, his arms now too far from his body. 

“Soldier, you won’t need an enemy to destroy you if you insist on doing so yourself. Bring your arms in, loosen your wrists. Tension in the body becomes stiffness in the weapon.” Colonel Jeon eyes him, his voice cutting through the rustling of each man trying out the strikes. 

Taehyung feels a searing flush creep from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears, but his spine tingles at the smooth timbre of the colonel's voice. He nods and tries again, this time focusing on keeping his muscles more relaxed. To his surprise, it works, his movement noticeably more fluid and swift. He does it again, and again, each time feeling more natural. A smile quirks at his lips as he feels his body adjust to the movement, his hands slowly remembering where to grip and which way to twist. 

A hand brushes his shoulder, making him freeze with his staff midair. 

“Kim, that is not an uppercut.” A voice speaks near his ear. 

It’s Colonel Jeon. He _touched_ him. 

Taehyung gulps and lowers his staff, eyebrows knitting in confusion. 

“Is it not, sir?“ His voice nearly cracks on the last word, but he swallows again to save it. 

“In an uppercut, the tip of your staff swings beside you and strikes up, hence the name. You are doing what I would call a down cut, you are going the wrong direction.”

Taehyung nods, ducking his head to hide his embarrassment. 

“Watch.” Colonel Jeon steps in front of Taehyung, holding his own staff in ready position. He slowly performs an uppercut, eyes following the tip of his staff as it first comes toward him before sweeping near his ankle and jabbing up to where it began. He turns his eyes to Taehyung, giving a small nod for him to try. Taehyung repeats the movement, slowly, trying to focus on unlearning the incorrect movement he had practiced before. The colonel’s lips twitch with what might be a smile, but he turns and moves to the next man before Taehyung can really tell. 

His shoulder burns where the other man brushed it. Taehyung takes a deep breath and repeats the same movement over and over, making sure he moves the right way. Again, he feels his body become more comfortable, each strike smoother than the last. As he goes through each motion, he swears he can feel the eyes of the colonel on him again. This time, the gaze is less frustrated, perhaps even a bit proud. Taehyung’s cheeks burn perpetually pink as he swings his arms over his head and stabs the staff forward, going over the movement over and over again until it’s cemented into his memory, grinning to himself at how it feels to actually move towards success at something he’s trying. 

Today is better. 

———

  
  


Jeongguk sighs as he tosses a towel over his shoulder, grabbing a bar of soap from his battered chest of belongings. He’s exhausted, but he needs to wash himself. The moon is high overhead by the time he’s able to retire and gather his things before heading to the river. He feels better about training today, but Hanjin had been particularly pestersome this evening, squawking on and on that they’re moving ever closer to the soldiers needing to be ready and that they’ll be doomed if they don’t improve soon and Jeongguk needs to whip them into shape and whatever else he found the breath to complain about. Jeongguk was close to wringing that man’s skinny chicken neck when he finally flounced away from the strategy table with a huff. Jeongguk isn’t worried, not yet. A bit surprised perhaps at the lack of progress of his soldiers, but it’s only been two weeks. They have time, and he would rather see the men struggle and therefore push themselves a hundred times harder to succeed than be given a bunch of hard-headed, already perfectly trained soldiers. These ones are malleable, untrained, receptive to his methods. Hanjin says he isn’t hard enough on them, but Jeongguk knows that patience and consistency are the best ways to get the men where he wants them. 

He scuffles along the dirt path as he ponders these things. His favorite place here is a quiet pool in one part of the river, with a small clearing in the trees and smooth rocks on its bank. He’s almost there when he hears grunting and the rustling of footsteps in front of him. He stops and curls his fingers around the small knife he always carries, but after craning his neck a bit, he sees that there’s no need to pull it out. 

It’s Kim Taehyung. He’s in a little clearing well lit by the moonlight, the soft whoosh of his bo staff sweeping through the air accompanying his little grunts as he moves. Jeongguk stays still, watching the boy curiously. He’s quite a sight, jerking his staff around gracelessly, though his technique is correct, even looking as ridiculous as it does. Jeongguk notes how he could improve, how he needs to keep tension in his core and not his shoulders, to raise his elbow over the edge of the staff, to loosen his grip on the wood so his knuckles aren’t white and locked. Jeongguk gathers these things on the tip of his tongue, ready to step forward and say them, but he can’t make himself move as he watches. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful. 

Clumsy and unskilled, nearly comical in his movements, beautiful. 

His deeply tanned skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, glowing in the moonlight. His dark hair flows gently over his ears and kisses the nape of his neck, and Jeongguk could swear it has an ethereal silver shine to it. Must be the moonlight again. When he turns around his face is scrunched up in concentration, lips digging into one side of his lower lip. His eyebrows are strong and dark, furrowed over his deep, soulful eyes. Jeongguk wishes he could step closer and stare into those eyes, learn the patterns of color dotted through them and count each long eyelash that brushes over his high cheekbones. He wishes he could run his thumb over the peak of his plush lips before pressing them to his own. He wishes all these things as he watches, peeking through the brush, his stomach curling in with a feeling he’s only ever associated with the anticipation and excitement he feels before riding into battle. 

When he fears that he’s overstayed his luck and he’ll be caught staring at any moment, he reluctantly turns around as silently as he can and continues down the path to the pool, no longer concerned with Hanjin’s whining or wondering if his men will be ready to fight. All he can think about as he drops his towel onto a rock and slips out of his clothes before dipping into the cool water is Kim Taehyung. 

———

Taehyung tilts his head back and swipes the back of his hand over his sweaty face, dropping his staff to the ground. He’s been here for two hours, late into the night, practicing just like Hoseok had suggested. The spirit has been missing in action all day again, but Taehyung tries not to let it bother him too much. Despite his annoyance, he knows Hoseok was right about him needing to do this on his own. Something must have clicked in him today, because he feels so much better about today’s training than he has any other day. Maybe it was the personal correction from Colonel Jeon, no matter how brief or embarrassing. Just thinking about that man being in his proximity makes him feel hotter than he already is. The nights are getting cooler, but it’s still humid and his sweaty skin is uncomfortably sticky. He didn’t think to bring a canteen of water with him, a decision he’s been regretting almost the entire time he’s been here. His uncalloused hands are raw from hours gripping the staff, his palms stinging and red. 

He considers making the short trek back to camp, but he remembers that his water canteen there is almost empty. He should have brought the damned thing with him to fill it. Fortunately, he recalls walking by a small, quiet pool nearby, which is much closer to than the camp. He could even dip into it to cool himself off, scrub the stickiness from his skin, that would be lovely. He has to be careful about bathing during the day, not wanting anyone to see the smoky, diluted ink that always flows from his head when he dips it underwater. The color doesn’t start to truly fade and become patchy until a few washes in, but some always comes out when he’s in the water. Now, late into the night, he knows no one will be there, giving him the perfect opportunity to splash around alone. 

He picks up his staff and starts off towards the pool, whistling softly to himself. Soon he pushes through the overgrown branches of a tree and steps into the clearing surrounding the pool, but what he sees stops him dead in his tracks. 

Colonel Jeon is already there, sitting chest deep in the pool with his back facing Taehyung. He’s singing softly to himself, waving his arms gently in the water. Taehyung’s gut drops, but he can’t make himself turn away. The scene is so tranquil, so peaceful, and the colonel’s singing is so gentle and beautiful, Taehyung can’t lift his feet to turn back. Light from the full moon sparkles on the surface of the water, reflecting off of the little waves coming from the colonel’s hands. His hair is still in a loose bun, several wispy pieces hanging near his ears and down his neck. Taehyung lowers his eyes and sees a flesh colored blur under the water, then flicks his gaze to the clothes laying on a rock nearby. The man is naked. 

Taehyung’s heart kicks to a racing speed when the colonel starts to turn around, his side profile slowly becoming visible. Taehyung gasps and steps back, hoping to discreetly slip into the brush and move farther up the river, but he hears a sickening snap as a twig cracks beneath his foot. Colonel Jeon whirls around and Taehyung yelps, everything in him flooding with embarrassment and apprehension. 

“I’m so s-sorry, sir, I didn’t think anyone would be here so late at night.” Taehyung hovers a forearm over his eyes in case the colonel values his privacy. He probably doesn’t, Taehyung and every other man in the camp has already seen him shirtless, but better safe than sorry. He waits to be splashed, yelled at perhaps, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he hears little swishing sounds through the water that he can’t decipher the source of, still holding his breath and covering his face. 

“You can join me, water was created for all men.” Taehyung peeks over his arm and sees that the colonel has moved to the opposite side of the pond, facing him fully now. 

“Sir?” Taehyung squeaks, tentatively lowering his arm. 

“I said join me, Kim. You’re sweating like hell, come cool yourself off.” The man’s voice is even, nonchalant, not at all like he was just surprised by a sweaty, terrified Taehyung while he’s bathing. 

Taehyung debates silently with himself. He’s really hot and sticky and dying for a drink of the cool water, but he thinks his poor heart might just give out if he has to edge any closer to the naked, barely concealed form of his commanding officer to get it. He might seem rude if he turns and leaves after being invited to join the colonel, but the thought of stripping down and getting in, or even dipping his toes in with all of his clothes still on, makes him feel like throwing up. He stands there, staring, eyes wide as he thinks. 

“Kim, are you alright?” The deep, soft voice startles Taehyung out of his internal crisis. He nods, biting into his lip, not trusting himself to say anything. 

“Um, yes sir, I’m doing fine,” Taehyung cringes at how choppy and manufactured his response is, but he’s impressed he could speak at all without his voice cracking. 

“Are you going to get in, or are you not?” The colonel stares Taehyung down, dark eyes almost daring him to get in. By this point Taehyung has realized it isn’t really his choice and there’s only one thing he can do. 

He drops his staff to the soft grass at his feet and toes off his shoes, kicking them to the side before bringing horribly shaky hands to the knot at the front of his shirt. His teeth chatter despite the warm weather as he pulls the tie loose and lets the garment slip off of his shoulders. Without even looking up, he can feel the burn of the other man’s gaze. He considers taking off his pants, too, but immediately decides against it. Walking back to camp in soaked pants will be uncomfortable, but less so than stripping completely in front of his colonel and getting near him in the water. Two naked bodies would be too brazen for his liking. Colonel Jeon eyes him up and down like he’s prepared to challenge this, too, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

Taehyung edges toward the water and sits down as quietly as he can, already feeling like the thundering of his heartbeat is too loud for the atmosphere. He slips his toes and feet in, unable to stop a sigh of relief from escaping his lips at the cool water lapping against his ankles. 

“What were you doing that has you so worked up, Kim?” The colonel asks, his voice almost sounding like he already knows the answer, that same strange tone Hoseok often takes with him. The way he sounds so completely unaffected by this situation has Taehyung shaking, his legs clearly trembling as he dips them deeper under the water. 

“I was practicing, sir. I need to get better at everything, I’m sure you already know that.” Taehyung tightens his core to try to keep his voice even, taking a long deep breath in and out as he leans over to roll up the hems of his pants. He doesn’t expect the colonel to laugh. It’s just a small giggle, but it bounces around in Taehyung’s mind over and over again. He’s never heard him laugh before, or even crack a smile bigger than a quirk of his pouty lips. It’s higher pitched than he would’ve thought, nearly boyish in its timbre. When Taehyung looks up into the other man’s face, his eyes are scrunched up into little crescent moons and his front teeth peek over his bottom lip just a little bit. Taheyung’s heart melts, this image is so incredibly different from the intimidating demeanor the colonel usually exudes. Not for the first time, he wonders how old he is, because when he looks like this, relaxed and smiling in the moonlight, he looks so young Taehyung can hardly even associate him with the hard, commanding presence of the Colonel Jeon he knows. 

“Sir, may I ask you if you’ve been drinking?” 

The colonel looks at Taehyung with surprise, smile slipping and eyebrows knitting together. 

“I don’t really drink, Kim, why do you ask?” His voice sounds almost defensive, and Taehyung immediately feels bad for asking. 

“It may sound strange, and I mean no disrespect or offense, sir, but I haven’t seen you smile before.” Taehyung’s words sound small even in his own head, his voice timid and still a bit shaky. 

The other man looks down into the water and drags his fingers through it, watching the ripples that emerge in their wake. “Colonel Jeon doesn’t smile very much, Kim. Maybe sometimes I like to take a break from being him.” He doesn’t say anything to expand on that, the words sounding heavy, like there’s a lot of reason and sorrow behind them, but Taehyung doesn’t think it’s his place to ask. 

“Sir, may I ask you something else?” The colonel nods, looking up through his thick lashes. “Will you just call me Taehyung?” The other man seems taken aback by this, but that little bunny-like smile peeks through again. 

“Is there a reason, Taehyung?” 

Taehyung has to hold back a shiver at how his name sounds rolling off of that tongue, how it sounds teasing and playful. 

“There are just a lot of Kims in this camp, sir. To my knowledge there is no other Taehyung.” The colonel’s smile gets bigger at this, and now it almost looks like he’s intentionally biting into his lower lip to keep it from growing even more. 

“You are right, there is no other Taehyung.” 

They sit in a relatively comfortable silence after that, Taehyung dragging his feet gently through the water and the colonel sitting quietly, content to watch the patterns his feet make. Taehyung only realizes how long they’ve been there when he hears the other man sigh and start to stand. He panics, trying to turn his back but ending up slipping on the unstable bank of the pool and smacking into the dirt. 

“Have you not seen a naked man before, Taehyung?” The colonel laughs, the sound of droplets of water indicating that he’s stood and is getting out of the water. 

Brushing soggy clumps of dirt from his bare chest, Taehyung giggles nervously, eyes still averted. It doesn’t help that the colonel seems like he's trying to say his name whenever he gets a chance. “If I’m honest, sir, I have not.” 

The colonel laughs again at this, the water drops now thudding softly on the ground. “You can look now, Taehyung.” 

Taehyung cautiously turns around, grateful that the other man now has a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. It rides dangerously low on his hips, a light trail of dark hair visible below his navel, but he’s covered. He pulls his clothes on underneath the towel before unwrapping it and slinging it over his shoulder, clasping a small bar of soap in his large palm. 

“Should be getting to sleep, it’s late.” He looks at Taehyung as if he’s waiting for him until Taehyung finally pulls his discombobulated brain together and stumbles up the bank to tug his own shirt on. He leaves it untied and doesn’t put his shoes back on, opting instead to tuck them under one arm and carry his staff with the other. Satisfied, Colonel Jeon grins and ducks through the brush to the path. Taehyung trails a bit behind, watching the swing of the man’s arms as he walks and listening to the gentle little song he hums to himself. This man seems like an entirely different person than the usual Colonel Jeon. 

_Colonel Jeon doesn't smile very much, Kim. Maybe sometimes I like taking a break from being him._

Those words ring in Taehyung’s head until they step into the camp. 

“Sir?” Taehyung murmurs only a moment later, stopping by his tent. The colonel halts and turns to face him, his countenance open and gentle. “Can I ask why… Why do you always look at me?” The other man’s expression makes Taehyung immediately regret asking. His face turns an incredible shade of red and he looks embarrassed, something Taehyung would have never expected him to be capable of. 

“Goodnight, Kim.” The flustered man wheels and hurries away before disappearing behind the large tent. 

“Taehyung,” Taehyung whispers to himself. His shoulders droop and he pouts as he ducks into his own tent, dropping his things at the entrance and collapsing into his blankets. A whirlwind of emotions and questions stirs to life inside of him, spinning and gaining speed like a tornado with nothing in its way to slow it down. He wonders if he can wish Hoseok into existence, he wants to plop his head into his lap and feel his warm little hands stroke his hair while he rambles about the mystery that is Colonel Jeon. 

Hoseok doesn’t pop up next to him, and he doesn’t sleep. 

——

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ is a good summary of what Jeongguk’s mind sounds like in the moments after he slips into his tent in a panic. 

What was he thinking? 

Kim Taehyung. _Kim Taehyung_ was there. 

Jeongguk basically invited him to see him naked. 

Is that rude? Was he rude to Kim Taehyung?

He stares at him all the time and he noticed. 

Is that irritating? Did he make Kim Taehyung uncomfortable?

He asked him to call him Taehyung. That must be good, right? He did call him Taehyung. He must like it, right?

Jeongguk paces around as much as he can in his small tent, muttering to himself and wringing his hands together. How could he have been so bold? Somehow, it’s only now dawning on him that he might like Kim Taehyung. For what reason, he has no idea. He’s terrible at virtually everything he puts his hand to, he’s awkward as can be, scrawny, and shy. It seems like he’s trying to get better, but his progress is questionable. 

Yet he has these huge, hopeful brown eyes that sparkle with innocence, and large, slender hands with delicate, gentle fingers. The way that he hums softly to himself when he washes his dishes makes Jeongguk’s heart stutter every time he hears it, and he’s smart, if only a bit clumsy and uncoordinated. Jeongguk hasn’t forgotten how that nervous, scrawny boy powered his way up the pole that first day, the only one who could see past the brawn and use his brain to solve the problem. If he could just think similarly about everything else, maybe he could succeed. In some areas there is no substitute for raw muscle, but that’s easily acquired if you know how to go about it. 

This strange nervousness that tickles at his gut whenever he thinks about Taehyung is something he can’t seem to shake off, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. When he’s going into battle, there’s only so much space for anxiousness before adrenaline takes over and drowns everything else out. Here, laying alone in his tent, there seems to be unlimited space for more of Taehyung. 

Jeongguk wants more of him. He wants Taehyung to call him by his first name, a name that no one in the camp even knows. He wants to intertwine Taehyung’s fingers with his own and kiss his knuckles and brush his lips over the numerous bruises he’s bound to give himself in training. 

Jeongguk wants Taehyung. 

———

Five days after the pool incident, Taehyung has not once caught Colonel Jeon’s eyes. The man who seemed unable to remove his gaze from him before now seems content to act as if Taehyung doesn’t exist anymore. A week ago, Taehyung might’ve thought of this as a relief, but now, he feels only frustration and disappointment. Most of it is directed at himself for having gotten his hopes up in the first place, but he doesn’t even know when or why that happened. When did he become accustomed to those sparkling obsidian eyes being trained on him at all times, and when did they become a source of stability rather than anxiety? Why should it bother him so much that those eyes no longer find him worthy of being looked at? 

Today, they are practicing archery. Remarkably, Taehyung has been improving over the past week. Definition is showing up in his arms and torso, and he feels stronger. He’s been practicing a lot on his own like he did the night he saw the colonel at the pool. His new motivation is to recapture the attention that he took for granted before, to give Colonel Jeon a reason to watch him. The man in question is milling about behind the line of men, hands behind his back as he wanders from man to man, giving them advice. He comes to Jimin, to Taehyung’s left, and adjusts his grip on the bow before watching him hit a smaller ring in his target than he had before.

“Good work. Again.” Taehyung hears the colonel’s footsteps in the thick grass beside him as he walks in his direction. 

He steadies his breathing and focuses on the exhale as he pulls back the bowstring, sighting eye trained intensely on the small red painted dot on his target. When his lungs empty out he lets go, hearing the arrow whistle through the air until it sticks solidly in the center, a perfect bullseye. He grins ecstatically and turns to see Colonel Jeon’s reaction, but the man has already passed him. He couldn’t have missed seeing Taehyung hit the bullseye, yet he strode right on past as if it didn’t happen. Taehyung’s heart sinks in his chest, a strange sense of dejection making his body feel heavy. Angrily, he jerks another arrow from the quiver slung over his back and sloppily lines it up, releasing the string too early and hardly bothering to aim. Unsurprisingly, the arrow thuds pathetically into the ground in front of his target, making Jimin snicker from the side. Colonel Jeon now stands with Yang, the huge burly man who had punched Taehyung on his first day, who is failing hopelessly at controlling his bow with his big meaty hands. Watching the colonel gently correct him and reposition his hands makes something in Taehyung’s heart twist with admiration, but it’s accompanied with jealousy. He wants those strong fingers on his own, showing him what to do, and he wants those powerful arms wrapped around his own shoulders helping him lift the bow to the correct angle. 

“Colonel Jeon, sir!” Taehyung calls out, intentionally making his grip on the bow too wide, “I need help.” The colonel glances at him for the briefest moment when he hears his name, but he averts his eyes just as quickly. He says one final thing to Yang and comes back to Taehyung, who has fabricated questions that he knows the answers to ready on his tongue. 

“I can’t seem to-” 

“Looks like you’re doing just fine, Kim. Carry on.” The colonel gestures to Taehyung’s bullseye and turns around without another word. 

And so it goes. Taehyung increases his efforts tenfold in all of his training to try to gain the colonel’s attention, to no avail. The positive outcome of this is that Taehyung improves a lot in his skills, dead set on reclaiming the constant attention of a certain man. He finds some kind of solace in his achievements, but he would feel so much more successful if he didn’t constantly feel invisible. Seokjin and Jimin offer their praise and comment often on how his body is filling out, how he’s becoming so skilled, and all manner of things they find his improvement in. He loves and appreciates it, but it simply doesn’t fill the emptiness he feels at the complete lack of recognition from his colonel. 

Tonight is cloudy, a bit cooler than the nights have been recently, a sign of the approaching cooler months. The moon is nearly invisible, a tiny sliver of light that occasionally peeks through the puffy clouds streaked across the black sky. Taehyung sits outside his tent, looking up, thinking (as has been usual lately) about the glittering, ebony eyes of Colonel Jeon. He wishes that he could even catch a glimpse of the stars tonight, so similar to the sparkle in those eyes, but they’re obscured by the clouds. His heart is heavy, sagging in his chest. He wants Hoseok to appear, the spirit hasn’t paid a visit since the last time he popped up in his tent. Taehyung desperately needs a companion, someone to listen to his woes. He lowers his eyes from the sky to a tent across the camp, where a light glows inside despite the late hour. He gets to his feet and pads barefoot across the dirt to that light. 

He doesn’t quite know how one is supposed to knock on a canvas tent, so he just taps his fingers over it as best he can. 

“Hyung? May I come in?” 

He hears rustling inside before Seokjin peeks his head out and grabs his hand to beckon him in. His tent is no bigger than Taehyung’s, and it’s quite cramped for the two men to sit comfortably inside, but they manage. Taehyung eyes the writing supplies strewn about, as if Seokjin had haphazardly shoved them off his lap to greet him when he came. He wants to ask about them, but he doesn’t want to pry. He settles for just asking if he had interrupted him, and apologizing if he had. 

Seokjin smiles sadly, an expression Taehyung has never seen on him. “No, you didn’t disturb anything. Just writing some letters, that can be done any time.” He brushes his fingers lovingly over the paper resting by his left knee, and Taehyung notices for the first time a small gold band around his ring finger. His curiosity piques, but before he can ask about it, Seokjin speaks first. 

“What can I do for you? It’s late, is there something keeping you awake?” 

Taehyung blushes, not really having thought through how to approach this subject without sounding silly for wanting boy advice in the midst of a war. He clears his throat twice and folds his hands in his lap before trying. 

“There is someone that I like… I like him a lot. I thought for a little while that he was interested, too, but he’s stopped looking at me. I don’t remember doing anything to offend him, and I didn’t tell him anything that might make him uncomfortable, but he’s behaving as if I don’t exist anymore.” He sighs and looks down into his lap, pressing the nails of one hand into the pads of the other. “I try everything I can to get his attention, to impress him, to get him to say anything at all to me, but he seems so adamant on acting like we’ve never spoken.” 

Seokjin is silent for a moment, watching Taehyung fiddle with his fingers. He runs a hand through his hair, which is down and hanging loose around his shoulders from its typical neat bun. It’s long, brushing his biceps. It looks unbrushed, slightly tangled, a strange and uncharacteristic look on the usually well-kept man. He looks tired, Taehyung notes, his eyes duller than they normally are and dark bags sinking in underneath. 

“Have you thought about confronting him? Tell him how you feel. He might be afraid to do the same.” He chuckles wryly. “Love and attraction is a funny thing, Taehyung. We chase after it, yet when we encounter it, we turn and cower away from it.” His fingers again run over the paper, and he smiles at it. “Do not run from it, Taehyung. Love awakens in you all these new emotions you never knew you could feel, and it’s worth all of the pain and the hurt to look into the eyes of the person you love and see them loving you back.” 

Taehyung doesn’t really know what to do with that, nor is he sure that Seokjin is really talking to him. It sounds like he’s talking to himself, actually, like he’s in his own world with the letters he was writing, perhaps with whoever he was writing them to. 

“H-have you been in love, hyung?” Taehyung tries cautiously, his fingers stilling in his lap. Seokjin looks up, surprised, as if he forgot that Taehyung was actually there. He smiles sadly again and nods. “Are you married?” Taehyung asks, gesturing to the ring on the older man’s finger. Another nod. 

“No one here knows. It’s best not to talk about these things during war, you know. My father is very old, it was unspoken that I would be the one to be conscripted. My wife…” He smiles, so gently that Taehyung feels like he might cry. “My wife is pregnant. Our first baby. I didn’t know when I left. She’s who I was writing to. I feel guilty, you know?” Taehyung doesn’t know, and he feels somehow like he’s intruding on something incredibly private, but he doesn’t say anything to interrupt, staying as still as he can. “I didn’t know, but I still left her. She’s all alone and I might never…” He stops, his voice cracking a little bit. Taehyung really feels like he’s intruding now. “I might never see my child, I might never see my wife again.” He looks up at Taehyung, this time his eyes glistening and reflecting the golden light of the lamp in the corner. “They are what I fight for. I think some of the men here forget that we are training for war. You’ve asked me before why I try so hard and why I’m so good at the things we do, and while part of it is previous training when I was growing up, most of it is because I cannot fail. Failure means death, and death means leaving my family alone in this world, it means never seeing my child. I won’t let that happen.” His voice changes from sad and wistful to sounding almost angry, with such determination that Taehyung feels his palms tingle. 

Seokjin laughs a bit, thumbing at the tears in his eyes. “You didn’t come for that, I apologize. I didn’t mean to unload that on you.” 

“No, no, thank you for telling me. I find it incredibly admirable, hyung. I think men who have something to fight for are the ones who will make us succeed.” Taehyung doesn’t know what else to say, he feels awkward and out of place in the cramped tent filled with too much emotion. “I hope you get back to them, hyung,” he whispers, not knowing what else to say. 

“Yes, so do I.” Seokjin twists the band on his finger, staring at it. “It’s Colonel Jeon, isn’t it? The one you like.” Taehyung’s eyes shoot up, an immediate blush blooming on his cheeks, but Seokjin’s eyes are mirthful and not as dull as before, nowhere near the judgement he had expected. 

“Um, it’s, no-” 

“Oh please child, don’t deny it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He does look at you, by the way, just when you’re not looking back at him.” Seokjin reaches out and squeezes Taehyung’s hand reassuringly, silencing his flustered stuttering. “My guess is that he’s afraid. You’re a special person, Taehyung, I’ve never met anyone like you. I think that you hold a lot of love in you, without anywhere deserving to pour it into. Even colonels are afraid of love sometimes.” Seokjin smiles again, this one genuine and not as sad. “Tell him how you feel. At this point, there’s nothing to lose, and everything to gain, and that’s the best place you can be.” With one final squeeze, Seokjin lets go of Taehyung’s hand and reaches around him to gather his letters into a neater pile. “Now, go back to your tent and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day, with all the chances in the world for you to tell him how you feel, yes?” 

Taehyung nods and scoots back towards the flap of the tent. “Thank you, hyung. I hope you sleep well.” Seokjin nods and grins softly as Taehyung clumsily gets out of the tent and stands, his knees wobbling a bit from sitting for so long. 

He looks up as he walks back towards his own tent, and smiles to himself when he sees that the clouds have cleared and the stars are visible, twinkling above him.


	4. Illuminate my Blood

Taehyung wakes up the next morning to the sound of Hanjin banging his gong again, his muscles sore and his head feeling groggy. He feels grumpier than he has in a while, not at all refreshed like he should after a full night of sleep. He opens his eyes and turns over to see Hoseok sitting next to him, wide awake and rocking back and forth with his legs crossed. 

“Where have you been? Don’t know if you care, but I thought about you a lot and I actually _wanted_ to see you. You’re a shit companion, you know that?” The way Taehyung’s voice is husky and cracked belies some of the harshness of his words. Hoseok seems relatively unaffected, though he hangs his head a bit. 

“I know. I should have told you that you have to actually say my name if you want me to come to you, you can’t just think about me or wish I was there. I would’ve come in an instant if you had just called me.” He crawls over and flops down sideways over Taehyung’s bare chest. “You’ve gotten big, hey?” He jabs a finger into Taehyung’s chest, now shaped with muscles and bulging slightly, and squeezes his bicep with the other hand. 

“Whatever. Just working hard to impress the man I like, who by the way probably hates me and never wants to see me again. Get off.” Taehyung shoves Hoseok roughly to the ground, but the spirit pops right back up and stares him in the face, so close that Taehyung sees double of him. Hoseok peers into one eye, then the other, and pinches Taehyung’s cheek. 

“You like someone! You have a crush!” He sounds like he’s made some huge discovery and bounces to the floor before rolling to his feet and dancing around. 

“Yes, you idiot. I _just_ said that. And I literally told you flat out last time you bothered to visit. Did you knock your head or something?” Taehyung swipes a hand over his face and sits up, the blanket pooling around his waist. 

Hoseok ignores him and continues prancing about the small tent. “Does he like you back? Did you kiss him? Did you sleep with him? Is he good in bed? Are you in love? Did you tell him you’re in love? Did he-” 

“Hoseok, shut _up_. You’re loud and it’s early, if you’re going to bombard me with stupid questions then feel free to leave.” Taehyung doesn’t really mean it, he has actually missed the spirit’s company, but he wasn’t quite expecting him to return with the full force of his annoyance capacity. 

“Sorry, sorry. But did you?” Hoseok plops to the floor and looks up hopefully at Taehyung. 

“No. I already said I don’t think he likes me. We didn’t kiss, we didn't sleep together, so I have no idea if he’s good in bed, I’m not in love, so I didn't tell him I am. Satisfied?” Taehyung gets to his feet, slouching under the low peak of the tent, and reaches to pull his shirt on. 

“No, I am not satisfied. Why doesn't he like you?”

“I don’t know, I might feel better if I at least had a reason for the way he’s acting. It seemed like he did like me, he basically outright flirted with me one night and wouldn’t stop staring at me every day before that, but since then he acts like I don’t exist at all.” Taehyung puts his arms through his tunic and secures it in front, putting on his clean pair of pants and making a mental note to wash the other pair today. 

“What happened that one night?” Hoseok returns to rocking back and forth, seemingly unable to keep still. He reminds Taehyung of a hyperactive child he knew back in his village once. 

“I was practicing late one night because I wanted to get better to impress him, like you said last time. I was really hot and there’s a pool nearby, so I went to it. He was already there bathing. I thought he would be upset that I disturbed him, but he just stared me down and invited me to join him. He said some strange things that sounded like they had some deep explanations or feelings behind them, but he didn’t ever explain if they did. We walked back, I asked why he always stares at me, he freaked out, and he’s barely spoken to me since.” 

Taehyung reaches back and pulls his hair into a little bun, it’s grown out enough to do so. He should cut it soon, it’s using more and more ink every time he dyes it. Hoseok is silent for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. 

“He’s scared.” 

“Seokjin-hyung said the same thing, but he gave me actual good advice. He’s more of a companion than you are.” Taehyung spits, still bitter about how lonely he’s felt these past weeks. Hoseok seems to actually absorb the words this time and retreats into himself, looking more ashamed than he has yet this morning. Taehyung sighs and sits back down on his bed. “I’m sorry. I missed you, I really did, and I really needed someone to talk to when you weren’t here. Come around more often, please?” 

Hoseok nods, still curled up in a little protective ball. “If I hadn’t been gone, you wouldn’t have gone to Seokjin, you know. You might not have confided in him and become closer, gotten his advice that’s _actually good_.” His voice sounds small, and Taehyung’s heart twists. He knows the spirit is a full grown man, or spirit or ghost or whatever he’s considered to be, but he looks so small and child-like curled up that way, he can’t help but feel a little bad. He reaches out a hand and pats Hoseok’s knee, the skin warm through his burnt orange trousers. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry I said that. I guess I do have to be independent and make my own friends, and I might not do that if you were always around.”

The crash of the little gong bangs insistently outside his tent, making both of them jump. 

“Up, Kim! Up!” Hanjin’s nasally voice cries. Taehyung rolls his eyes and gets to his feet again. 

“Duty calls. But please come visit me more often, from wherever you spirits go when you’re not here.” Hoseok nods and grins as Taehyung steps out into the morning. 

The light is still gray and cold, and Taehyung regrets not having put on his thicker tunic as soon as he feels goosebumps rise on his arms from the chill of the early autumn morning. He sees most of the men gathered as usual, but something feels different, a restlessness in the air that hasn't been so thick and palpable since they first got here. He strides over to the group and stops next to Jimin, who’s hanging back from the others. Taehyung is about to greet him when he looks over at his face. 

“... Hyung? Are you alright?” Jimin doesn’t respond. His face is completely drained of color like he might pass out, with eyes wide and a look as if he’s seen a ghost. Taehyung taps him on the shoulder hesitantly, to which Jimin startles and steps back, his eyes finally turning to Taehyung as if he hadn’t noticed him there before. 

“Hyung?” Taehyung tries again, hovering his hand over Jimin’s arm. 

“That man… I k-know that man.” Jimin again looks toward the group, but Taehyung can’t see any particular man that would make Jimin look so shocked. He steps closer and cranes his neck, catching a glimpse of Colonel Jeon at the front. Next to him stands another officer that Taehyung has never seen before, perhaps this is the man that Jimin is talking about. He takes a few more steps until he’s joined the rest of the men, looking back worriedly at Jimin, who still stands frozen in his place. He’ll come back for him if he doesn’t move, but he wants to see this man first. 

He pushes his way through the crowd until he can get a clear look. He trains his eyes on the man next to the colonel, trying to see if there’s anything in particular about him that would make Jimin react like that. He’s shorter than Colonel Jeon by a few centimeters, but he holds the same proud stance. Long black hair flows over his shoulders, half of it tied on top of his head, a broad band of blood red fabric wrapped around his forehead. The most noticeable thing about him is a long, straight scar that stretches from above his right eyebrow, through his eyelid, over his cheek and nearly to his jaw. That same eye is clouded and white when he looks up, and his left eye is piercing with an intense, stormy gaze. It’s not as dark as Colonel Jeon’s are, closer to deep brown than black. His face is strangely doll-like, almost feline, with a small button nose and pouty, upturned pink lips, but his jaw is sharp and angular. Despite his small stature, he radiates a power that makes Taehyung shiver. He’s dressed like Colonel Jeon was on the first day in gleaming dark armor with the red cloak of an officer draped over his shoulders. Taehyung is about to turn back to Jimin when another man steps out of the biggest tent to stand next to the two officers. 

This one is taller than both of them, as broad as Colonel Jeon and carrying a regality that Taehyung associates most strongly with Seokjin. His hair is short, even shorter than Taehyung’s, everywhere except the top cropped close to his head. The longest pieces are around eyebrow length, but the majority of it is pushed back from his forehead, with only a few stray strands falling into his face. It’s dark brown with a soft reddish tint from the orange glow of the rising sun behind them. His uniform is also that of an officer, adding to his intimidating aura. His face is less angular and sharp than those of Colonel Jeon and the other officer, but it’s no less strong, with dark, deep eyes that look like they know everything and full lips set in a determined line. His hand rests on a long sword slung at his side, and Taehyung notices for the first time that the other new man has one, too. 

“Men, please welcome our new officers. This is Captain Min,” Colonel Jeon gestures to the shorter man, “and Colonel Kim.” The other man nods his head politely. “They are here to assist with the remainder of your training, and they will be leading this troop with me when we go to war. Colonel Kim is our head strategist, he will spend the majority of his time taking care of such business while we continue our training. Captain Min is a military trainer and has experience on the frontlines, he will be working closely with me to train and prepare you all as best we can for what lies ahead. Please give them your full respect and cooperation.” With that, the three officers step into the tent, and the men start murmuring excitedly as they get their breakfast. Taehyung darts between them, looking for Seokjin. When he glances back, Jimin is still standing stock still where he was before.

“Hyung!” Taehyung calls once he spots the older man, his appearance back to its regular neatness from last night. Taehyung jogs up to his side and grabs his arm urgently. “Hyung, you have to come. Something is wrong with Jimin, he won’t move and he looks really ill.” He pulls on Seokjin’s sleeve and he comes without a question, dropping his empty bowl on the ground. 

As soon as they reach Jimin, Seokjin gently cradles his face and looks worriedly into his eyes. “Jimin-ah, what’s the matter?” He turns his face from side to side with his hands, not seeing any visible damage or injury. 

“H-he, I… I know that man, hyung. Colonel M-Min, I knew…” He stutters hopelessly, starting to hyperventilate and his fists clenching at his sides. 

“Shh, shh, it’s alright. Sit down with me, okay?” Seokjin moves his grip to Jimin’s arms and guides him to the ground carefully, sitting down right in front of him without removing his hands. “Taehyung-ah, go tell Colonel Jeon that Jimin is feeling quite unwell and we’re going to tend to him for a bit before we join the others, quickly now.” Taehyung opens his mouth to object, but he takes one look at Jimin’s eyes, very near to overflowing with tears, and swallows his argument with a nod. He turns on his heel and takes off to find the colonel. 

He skids to a stop in front of the large tent, unsure again of how to ask permission to come in. He hesitates before slipping one of the flaps open and poking his head in. There’s a long, low table covered in maps and other various papers, where Colonel Kim sits twirling a short knife in his palm as he studies them. Colonel Jeon and Captain Min stand on either side of him with their arms crossed, eyebrows knit as they discuss something in low whispers. Taehyung clears his throat and all three men look up at him, Colonel Jeon’s eyes noticeably widening in surprise. 

“Colonel Jeon, sir, may I speak with you outside? It’s important.” Taehyung looks straight into the man’s face and keeps his voice as steady as he can, trying not to lose his train of thought in those huge dark eyes. He could easily drown in them if he wanted to. 

_No, that’s not what matters right now,_ he reminds himself, remembering the look on Jimin's face. The colonel stares at him for a moment with his mouth slipping open like he’s about to say something before he snaps it shut and nods curtly. Taehyung dips his head and holds his breath as he holds the flap open for the officer to brush by him. 

“What is it, Kim?” The colonel’s eyes are unsteady, like he’s trying to look politely at Taehyung but is having a hard time keeping his gaze at him. Taehyung tries to ignore the pang he feels in his heart. 

“Jimin is very ill, sir, he seems to be in a panic of some sort. Kim Seokjin is with him now, and he asked that I tell you that we will try to attend to him for a little bit until we can take him to the medic. We will try to be as quick as we can, we should only miss breakfast and perhaps a few minutes of training. We apologize.” Taehyung bows his head again, unable to focus on those ebony eyes that shift from steely to warm and back again. When the colonel doesn’t move or say anything, he risks a glance up, surprised to find that the other man is staring straight at the top of his head. As soon as he looks up the colonel quickly averts his eyes, a slight flush blooming on his cheeks. 

_He does look at you, by the way, just when you’re not looking back at him._

“...Sir? Are you alright?” Taehyung whispers, studying the colonel’s features. They’re a unique and beautiful combination of angular and delicate, a strange contrast of innocence and roughness. Like in the tent, the colonel’s mouth opens and closes a little bit around nothing but air. 

“Perfectly fine, Kim. Go tend to him, but don’t be late. We have much to accomplish today.” 

“Yes sir, thank you sir.” Taehyung realizes that the colonel has reverted to calling him Kim since that night at the pool, and his heart twists. Without another word, the colonel turns back into the tent, leaving Taehyung to exhale a huge breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He bites at the inside of his cheek and runs back to where Seokjin and Jimin were, but the space is empty. He scans the surrounding area and spots them walking towards Seokjin’s tent, Jimin’s legs wobbly and his arms still supported by the elder. Taehyung jogs after them and ducks into the tent first, holding open the flap for the other two men. Jimin collapses to the floor on his knees as soon as he’s in, so Taehyung folds his own legs under him and scoots as far back as he can to allow the others space. Seokjin searches around for something and picks up a water canteen, shaking it before sucking his teeth. 

“Damn, it’s empty. Taehyung, stay with him, I have to go fill this up at the creek.” He quickly ducks out of the tent with the canteen, leaving the two boys alone. Jimin is trembling, hugging his arms tightly and rocking back and forth, muttering under his breath to himself. Taehyung hesitantly reaches out a hand and lays it as slowly as he can on Jimin's knee, not wanting to scare him any further. 

“Hyung, do you want to talk about it? You can try to tell me what’s bothering you, we want to help you, okay?” He keeps his voice low and gentle, trying to use the most soothing tone he can manage. 

Jimin doesn’t respond right away, but he tips over and lays his head in Taehyung’s lap, fisting the fabric of his pants in one hand and gripping it for dear life. Taehyung gasps softly, looking with surprise at the other man. He considers Jimin a good friend after the months of training together, keeping up a playful banter and competition with each other, but he would’ve never expected him to lay in his lap like a child and cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping him grounded. With a slightly shaking hand, he reaches out his fingers and brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from the clammy skin of Jimin’s forehead. 

“I knew him,” Jimin murmurs, almost to himself. 

“I know. Can you try to tell me how?” Taehyung keeps his fingers in Jimin’s hair, stroking it lightly. 

“I didn’t have parents, you know,” Jimin says after a moment, the shaking in his shoulders starting to subside. “I grew up with a group of other orphans where I come from, and I enlisted instead of being conscripted because I don’t have a family. I don’t even know my family name.” 

Taehyung realizes with a start that Jimin really doesn’t have another name, he’s always just been Jimin. He looks quietly at the other man and continues stroking his hair, waiting for him to continue. 

“Yoon… Captain Min, he kind of watched out for me and the other kids. He was a few years older than us and he took care of us the best he could.” A single tear escapes from each of Jimin’s eyes, one slipping over his nose to join the other where it dots Taehyung’s pants. He laughs mirthlessly, the sound empty and painful, making Taehyung’s gut twist. “I fell in love with him, or as much as I could when I was a fucking kid. We were both fucking kids, but I fell in love with him.” 

Taehyung thinks back to when Jimin had asked him to call him hyung, stating that he was twenty like himself, but the few months between them gave him the privilege of being the hyung. They had a playful scuffle over it, Jimin easily beating Taehyung and victoriously being called the hyung thereafter. He wonders to himself how long ago this was, how young Jimin had been when he fell for the other man. 

“He was my entire world. I don’t know why he even entertained it, he was older and smarter than me. He could’ve maybe found a real life if he didn’t insist on staying with me and the other kids.” More tears fall and he clenches his jaw. “He told me that we would make a new life for ourselves together, go somewhere new and find a house, fix it up and take in more kids like us so they could have a family.” He scoffs contritely, digging his slightly crooked front teeth into his lower lip. “I believed him, and I thought we would be together forever.” 

“What happened?” Taehyung prompts when Jimin stops speaking for a moment, seemingly lost in his memories. The smile that had started to form slips, his bottom lip quivering. 

“Three years ago, on the day before my birthday, I told him straight to his face that I loved him, and he smiled and he said he loved me too. We… we slept together for the first time, and he kept kissing me over and over like I was the most precious thing in the world to him.” His voice cracks and he bites harshly into his lip, a little squeak escaping as another tear slides over his nose. “He had this ring that his mother gave him before she died, he never took it off and he refused to sell it no matter how desperate we were for money.” He reaches under his tunic and pulls out a long chain around his neck with a ring on it, a simple silver band with a smooth black stone set in the center. He runs his fingers over it absently, releasing his grip on Taehyung’s pants. “The morning after that, he was gone. He left his ring and a little white flower that grew everywhere where we lived. I always thought he would come back, I convinced myself he had gotten lost or something. I looked everywhere for him, asking every place I went if anyone had seen or heard of Min Yoongi. After a year I gave up, I thought he was dead. He just… vanished, no trace anywhere.” He stops again, bringing the ring up to his line of sight and studying it as if he’s done so a thousand times before. “I always thought about starting that house for kids by myself, you know. I was working on it when I heard they were conscripting for a war. I had nothing in particular to stay for, so I thought why not go? Seokjin-hyung was an acquaintance of mine already, I had done some work for his father in exchange for food when I was younger. I happened to be in his hometown then, and we ran into each other on our way here. He made sure I had food and a place to stay while we were traveling, it was kind of him.” Jimin continues thumbing at the ring, silent for another moment before he speaks again. 

“I thought he was dead, Tae. I convinced myself he was, that should have been the only reason he left me without saying goodbye.” His voice is barely above a whisper, so soft that Taehyung has to lean down a little bit to hear it. “Do you know what it’s like to stare into the face of the ghost of someone you loved?”

“I can’t imagine it’s very nice, hyung,” Taehyung murmurs, fingers now stilled on the other boy’s head. “There must be an explanation, he’s clearly alive. You can talk to him, ask him where he’s been. I’m sure he had to have a good reason if he left you.” 

Jimin doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly and wipes his knuckles roughly over his face before sitting up. 

“Thanks, Tae. I guess I freaked out like a kid, huh?” He tries to laugh a bit, but it comes out more like a whimper. Taehyung just smiles sympathetically. 

“Love is a funny thing, hyung. Someone told me once that we chase after it, but we get scared when we find it and cower in fear.” Taehyung reaches over and squeezes Jimin’s hand in his own far larger one. “Maybe he was just afraid of it, or of hurting you. Talk to him about it, yeah?” 

Jimin nods again with a soft sniffle as Seokjin ducks back into the tent with his canteen full of water. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, surprised to find that Jimin looks far more alert than when he left, and the two boys have their fingers intertwined. 

“Something like that, hyung. I’ll be fine.” Jimin's voice is a bit unsteady, but he’s not hyperventilating and his gaze is focused on Seokjin as he speaks. 

“We can take you to the medic then, you should lay down for a bit, but we have to be back for training. I don’t think Colonel Jeon would take kindly to us being late.” Taehyung says, squeezing Jimin’s hand and pulling them both up to crouch inside the short tent. 

After they walk Jimin to the medic and make sure that he’s resting, the two men jog side by side to the field, each grabbing a sword on the way from their racks at the edge of the training grounds. Strangely, Taehyung swears he can see Colonel Jeon watching him as he runs to his place at the back. 

———

Captain Min is ruthless. Where Colonel Jeon typically sticks to gentler and more positive tactics, this man has no mercy on the soldiers as they go through their training that day. For such a small, unimposing looking person, he’s absolutely terrifying. His voice is deep and severe and his lone eye is sharp and watchful. Taehyung feels himself trembling as he moves through his sword strikes, but it isn’t from muscle fatigue. This time, it’s from realization and fear. He knew full well that he was offering himself up to go to war when he came here, but the way in which Captain Min speaks and carries himself really solidifies in him that they’re going to _war._ Bloody, deadly, destructive war. Taehyung looks ahead to where the two officers stand and wonders if Colonel Jeon has actually ever fought in a battle, while he’s positive that Captain Min has. There’s something in his face and in his gaze that’s dead and deadly at the same time, an unnerving glint that makes Taehyung shiver. He doesn’t see it in the eyes of the colonel. It’s strange that Colonel Jeon outranks the other man when he seems so much less experienced than him. No, Taehyung thinks, less experienced isn’t the right term. He’s more innocent, less calloused and damaged than the other. 

Taehyung wonders what it takes to make a man become like Captain Min. 

They practice for hours after their evening meal, long after the sun sets, until the muscles of every man are aching and screaming out for rest. Colonel Jeon seems to notice and takes mercy, leaning over to whisper something in the other’s ear, to which he huffs and nods curtly. 

“We are finished for today. Drink water, rest well, we have much to do tomorrow.” The new captain waves his hands dismissively and the men disperse with groans and sighs of relief. Taehyung rolls his neck in circles and stretches his arms back as he trudges towards his tent, dropping his sword into the grass right outside of it. He collapses face first into his blankets as soon as he’s inside, and he’s very near to falling asleep when a sharp flick between his eyebrows startles him awake. 

“Yah, what do you want?” He grumbles, rubbing his forehead and sitting up as he glares at Hoseok, standing as bright and energetic as ever in front of him. 

“You need to wash your shirt, remember?” Hoseok chirps, holding up said shirt for Taehyung to see, along with a bar of soap in his other hand. 

“I’m _tired,_ I’ll do it later.” Taehyung tips to the side to lay back down when Hoseok flicks him again, earning a yelp of displeasure. 

“Your current shirt is _filthy_ and you told yourself earlier today you would wash the other one. It won’t take long, get up and go do it.” 

“How did you even know that? I didn’t tell you I need to wash it.” Taehyung says indignantly, pouting at the spirit. 

“Spirit intuition. And simple observation. You smell disgusting, so the shirt you are wearing is dirty. Your other shirt also smells disgusting, therefore it is also dirty.” Hoseok taps his temple and holds out the shirt to Taehyung, who stares at it and makes no move to take it. “You aren’t going to impress Colonel Jeon smelling like a boar, Taehyung,” Hoseok sing-songs, waving the shirt in front of Taehyung's face. He huffs and snatches it and the soap away, muttering a “fine” and shoving out of the tent. 

Taehyung hears Hoseok giggling before a _pop_ signals that he’s vanished as he stomps towards the creek. It isn’t far, only about a fifteen-minute walk, and it’s actually quite peaceful in the woods as he walks, reminding him with a bittersweet tinge of his own forest at home. When he hears the sound of water running over smooth stones, he starts to take off the shirt he’s wearing; he might as well wash them both. It’s a bit chilly in the night air, and he feels goosebumps tickle his skin when he pulls his tunic off of his shoulders. 

He walks up to the water’s edge and kneels in the soft sand, submerging both shirts in the cool water and humming softly to himself. Once they’re both completely wet, he lathers them up with soap and scrubs them against a smooth rock by his knee. 

He drops his soap in the sand and gasps when he hears someone clearing their throat, startling him. His eyes shoot up, and his stomach drops like a stone when he sees Colonel Jeon about a few meters to his right, sitting cross-legged in the sand. 

“Shit! Um, I mean- Sorry, h- hello sir,” Taehyung stutters, fumbling for his soap before it gets carried away by the water. 

“Kim,” Colonel Jeon nods his head in greeting, but his eyes are wide and he looks nearly as surprised as Taehyung feels. Taehyung wonders if he knew he was here the entire time, if he was _watching_ him. The thought makes his heart skip a beat. 

“Sorry I keep disturbing you like this, I’ll be going.” Taehyung mutters hurriedly, fully prepared to stand and leave with his still very soapy clothes. 

“No, no, there’s no need,” The colonel responds just as quickly, waving his hands out in front of him. “I… I actually wanted to,” he clears his throat, “to talk to you. If I may.” 

Taehyung settles back down in the sand, this time sitting instead of kneeling. “Yes, what is it?” He asks slowly, racking his brain for any idea as to what the colonel wants to talk to him about. He’s barely spoken two words to him for nearly a month, avoided looking at him as much as possible, what could he possibly want to _talk_ about?

The colonel stares blankly at him, opening and closing his mouth like he seems so prone to do. “Kim, I -” 

“Are you upset with me?” Taehyung blurts out, immediately blushing afterwards and looking down into the water. 

“Upset? No, why would you think so?” The colonel sounds almost offended at such a notion. 

“Well, it's just… Forget I said anything, sir, it’s silly.” 

The colonel looks unconvinced, his eyebrows knitting together and his lips pouting out a little bit. He looks cute when he pouts. 

No, no, _cute?_ The _colonel?_ Absolutely not. 

He pouts harder. 

_Yes, very cute._

Taehyung mentally beats himself up and goes back to scrubbing his clothes, perhaps more rigorously than he ought to. 

“May I call you Taehyung?” The colonel’s voice sounds small, hesitant. It catches Taehyung off guard and he snorts, nearly dropping his clothes in the current of the creek. 

“I never said you couldn’t after last time, did I?” 

The colonel giggles softly at this, looking embarrassed. “No, I suppose you didn’t.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond, he just smiles and dips his shirts into the water, watching the current wash away the dirt-grayed soap. 

“Are you not cold?” The other man asks, gesturing to Taehyung's naked torso. 

“Perhaps a little, sir, but I have no clean shirts. Yet.” Taehyung holds up the dripping shirts for the colonel to see, who laughs a bit too enthusiastically at something that isn’t even funny. If Taehyung didn’t know any better, he might guess that the other man is _nervous._ He’s behaving very strangely. 

They sit in silence for a while, until the water from Taehyung’s clothes runs clear. It’s late, he should head back to the camp, but he finds that he doesn’t want to, not when he can be looking at the big, sparkling doe eyes of the other man. He’s missed them. 

“Do you sit here often?” Taehyung says, trying to say anything that could give him a reason to stay. 

The colonel hums and leans back on his elbows, turning his gaze to the water. “It helps me think. I said once that sometimes I need a break from being Colonel Jeon, being alone out here gives me that break.” 

“Who are you when you aren’t Colonel Jeon?” Taehyung asks tentatively, scooting closer to the other man until they could touch if they both stretched out their arms. The colonel laughs lightly, chewing his lip contemplatively. 

“Truthfully? A scared young man who often feels too small for the big things he has to do.” He leans forward and drags a finger through the sand, drawing swirls and meaningless patterns. 

“I think we all feel that way sometimes, sir,” Taehyung whispers, feeling a bit intrusive.

Colonel Jeon looks up at him and scoots a bit closer. “Can I ask something of you, Taehyung?” His eyes are big, almost imploring. 

“Anything, sir,” 

“When we’re here… like this,” he gestures to the space around them, “Will you call me by my first name?” 

Taehyung’s heartbeat speeds up in his chest, and he isn’t quite sure why. Learning a name can’t be that big of a deal, everyone has one. Yes, it’s likely that no one else here calls him by anything other than sir or Colonel Jeon, but it’s just a name. Still, he feels like he’s being granted access to a different part of the man, the part he’s showing now to Taehyung, sitting by the water as someone more than the Colonel Jeon Taehyung knows. He swallows and nods, slowly. 

The colonel scoots closer until their knees are almost touching and hesitantly extends his hand, which trembles the slightest bit. 

“Hello, I’m Jeongguk.” His voice is barely above a whisper, gentle and so, so soft. 

“Hello, Jeongguk, I’m Taehyung.” Taehyung reaches out and grasps the other man’s fingers in his own with a polite bow of his head. 

_Jeongguk. What a beautiful name._

“Jeongguk,” he breathes again, without exactly meaning to. 

Jeongguk smiles widely, his straight white teeth gleaming in the gentle moonlight. “Yes, that’s me.” His fingers remain clasped with Taehyung’s, and neither of them move to drop their hands. 

“Who is Jeongguk?” Taehyung asks, a slight teasing tone to his voice. 

The other man hums thoughtfully again, looking down to where their hands still hold each other. “Jeongguk likes music and painting, especially portraits. He often feels like he lives in the shadow of his father, and sometimes he believes what people say, that he isn’t worthy of becoming the youngest general in the Emperor’s army.”

Taehyung looks up, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s you?” 

Jeongguk nods, a strangely melancholic smile on his lips. 

“My halmeoni talked about you, once. She said that maybe I-” Taehyung stops himself, remembering that his grandmother had said he might meet this handsome young general when he was about to be presented in the matchmaking parade. He did see Jeongguk for the first time that day, but he still had white hair. He can’t expose himself as that cursed klutz in the parade that day. He gulps and giggles nervously. “She said that maybe I had h-heard of you. She loves gossip, you know, and thought maybe I knew about you.”

“Did you? Hear about me, I mean?” Jeongguk starts massaging Taehyung's hand gently with his thumb, his touch creating warm tingles on Taehyung’s skin. 

“No, I didn’t have many friends in my hometown. None, actually, so no one would’ve told me about you.” 

Jeongguk furrows his eyebrows slightly and pouts again, and Taehyung’s heart melts. “Why not? I find you very friendly.” He quirks a little grin at Taehyung, who blushes in return. 

“Nobody liked me. I spent a lot of time in the forest by myself, and I’m clumsy and awkward. I guess other people just thought I was weird.” If only he knew _how_ weird. 

“Hm, well I think they’re wrong. You may be clumsy, awkward, and weird, but you’re a lovely person, Taehyung. Their loss, in my opinion.” 

“How would you know?” Taehyung tries not to make his voice sound too bitter, lowering it a bit. “I thought you hated me, you barely looked at or spoke to me for a while, I thought maybe I had done something to upset you the last time we found ourselves in a situation similar to this.”

Jeongguk flushes in embarrassment and clicks his tongue. “I hope this doesn’t sound strange, but I do watch you. I’ve seen your improvement, it’s really remarkable. I see how you help the other men when you can, and I hear you singing when you wash your dishes, and I even see you when you practice alone sometimes. I just… got scared that you would notice again, I guess.” He looks back up at Taehyung with his big doe eyes, so different from the hardened, intense eyes Colonel Jeon boasts. He looks vulnerable, almost shy, like he just told Taehyung the biggest secret in the world. “Maybe I find it difficult to take my eyes off of you.”

Taehyung suppresses the urge to jump up and dance at the confession and settles for letting a little bashful smile play on his lips as he reaches out his free hand to draw his own patterns in the sand. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just revels in the feeling of _Colonel Jeon Jeongguk himself_ looking shy because of _him._ It’s a little cruel, perhaps, to leave the man hanging, but he finds it oddly entertaining how Jeongguk keeps leaning closer and closer to him to try and gauge his reaction. 

“How old are you?” he asks, breaking the silence. Jeongguk leans back a bit with a confused expression, eyebrows knit together and that _cute_ pout back on his lips. 

“Twenty-four, why do you ask?” 

Taehyung shrugs. “I want to know how old the youngest general in the Emperor’s army is.” He says it with intentional disinterest, as if he’s unimpressed. 

“ _Future_ youngest general,” Jeongguk corrects, letting go of Taehyung’s hand and flicking his knee lightly, “The youngest thus far was twenty-nine.”

Taehyung tries to ignore the fact that his hand feels cold and uncomfortably empty without the other’s in it, flexing his fingers and staring at them as he listens. “What makes you so special, hm? Why are you able to achieve it so young?” He makes his voice teasing, but he doesn’t expect Jeongguk to hang his head in a manner that almost looks ashamed. Did he go too far? He’s about to apologize when the other speaks first. 

“I ask myself that often. Why am I so special?” Jeongguk stretches his hand out like he wants to reclaim Taheyung’s fingers with his own, but he falters and instead lays it flat on the ground. “Truthfully, I think it has more to do with my father than my own accomplishment. He’s the Captain General, his Majesty’s highest and most respected officer.” Jeongguk resumes pushing his fingers through the sand. He scoffs lightly, his lips turning down. “You would think that should make it harder for me to succeed, not easier, if my own father is so highly respected, but I think other people are afraid of aggravating him by being hard on me. It feels empty,” he lifts his palm face-up and inspects the lines on it, “Like I don’t deserve it and didn’t earn it. I try to work harder to prove to people that I am deserving, but it never feels like enough when I don’t even believe it myself.” His voice has dropped to a whisper, and Taehyung's heart clenches at how dejected and sad the other man sounds. He reaches out and clasps Jeongguk’s fingers between his again, giving them a reassuring squeeze. 

“I was just teasing, you know.” He turns to face the other man and uses his other hand to tip his chin up so that their eyes meet, and he gazes unfalteringly into those dark, sparkling pools. “I think that you are very special, Jeongguk.” 

Jeongguk presses his teeth into his bottom lip and stares right back at Taehyung, but his eyes flick down to his lips and back up, and then between them again. He leans in slowly, hesitantly, and Taehyung doesn’t realize that he’s doing the same. They’re _so_ close, close enough to feel each other’s shaking breaths tickling their faces. Taehyung closes his eyes and focuses on those breaths, the rapid thudding of his heart, the crickets chirping all around them, the gentle song of the water. He squeezes Jeongguk’s hand and is about to close the gap and press their lips together when a sudden _splash!_ makes him jump and back away. His eyes shoot open, and he sees that it's just a deer that had leaped through the creek, but the charged moment between the two men has passed. Jeongguk’s eyes are wide open and his face is pale, looking shocked and embarrassed at the same time, his mouth opening and closing like Taehyung’s learning it tends to do when he’s searching for what to say. 

“Sorry, I-” 

“My clothes are clean.” Taehyung announces and hurriedly shoves to his feet, refusing to look back down at Jeongguk, knowing that if he does, he’ll give in and shove him to the ground and kiss him with everything he has pent up inside. He doesn’t know how well that would go over, so he opts for turning his back and walking quickly towards the camp, his heartbeat unwilling to calm down in the slightest. 

“Goodnight, Jeongguk,” he calls softly over his shoulder, trying to ignore how his feet long to run back to him. 

———

Taehyung does his best to avoid Jeongguk over the next few days. Truthfully, it isn’t difficult, not with how long and intense their hours of training are under Captain Min’s supervision. He can’t quite explain what it is that makes him avoid the other man while also begging him to run to Jeongguk every time he sees him. He occupies himself even more with his training, spending every spare moment practicing by himself or sparring with Jimin or Seokjin. He notices that Jimin seems to be using him for the same purpose, clinging to him for fear of running into Captain Min alone. At first, they don’t discuss it, an unspoken agreement between them to stick together whenever possible to ward off attention from either of their respective men. Taehyung has refrained from asking Jimin about Captain Min since the first day he arrived, guessing that he probably doesn’t want to talk about it. 

It only lasts about a week until Jimin comes crawling into his tent late one night, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a forlorn expression on his face. 

“Tae?” He peeks his head into Taehyung’s tent a moment after announcing his presence, his normally bold, carefree stare replaced by large puppy eyes. Taehyung sits up and beckons him in, scooting over as far as he can in the small space to allow Jimin to sit. 

“I can’t sleep,” he whispers, looking almost ashamed of himself and he hugs the blanket tighter around his shoulders. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Taehyung says honestly. He really has been having trouble sleeping the last few nights, his mind running too fast with questions and feelings and imaginations of all sorts. He thinks that maybe he understands better now why Jeongguk had made a point of ignoring him after the first time they met at the pond, but he tries to deny that he’s now essentially doing the same in return. 

Jimin rocks back and forth a little bit, the same way Hoseok always does, but it’s more like he’s trying to comfort himself than fidgeting with uncontainable energy. “He hasn’t spoken to me yet, Tae.” He says in a low, dejected voice. “Do you think he knows who I am?” His dark, gleaming eyes flick up to Taehyung’s, imploring and heartbreaking. 

“I’m sure he does, hyung, he’s probably just trying to figure out what to say. Have you tried approaching him yourself?” Taehyung tries to ignore the nagging thought that his own advice is very hypocritical.

Jimin shakes his head, casting his gaze back down to the ground. “I wouldn’t know what to say either. ‘Hey, I thought you were dead, nice to see you alive’? ‘Hey, it’s Jimin, remember me?’ ‘Hey, I could still be in love with you’? ‘Hey, do you still love me?’” He laughs humorlessly, biting at his cheek.

Taehyung doesn’t really know what to say, he’s not wise or good with advice like Seokjin. “Well, just… try, hyung. You won’t even know what happened to him if you never ask. Maybe he’s just as torn up about it as you are.” He reaches out a hand and gently lays it on Jimin’s knee, hoping to convey reassurance with more than just his words. 

“Hey, I’m not torn up about it, that’s dumb,” Jimin insists with a weak glare, but it’s only a moment before it falters and he goes back to staring at the floor. “Okay, maybe I am, just a little bit.”

Taehyung hums a soft giggle and squeezes Jimin’s knee. “There isn’t anything wrong with having feelings, you know. I know you’re all rough and tough guy, hyung, but even tough guys can be sad sometimes.” 

_Even Jeongguk is sad sometimes._

Jimin huffs like he’s about to argue, but he just nods in acceptance and doesn’t say anything against it. “Can I stay here?” He looks back up with those puppy eyes, and there’s no way Taehyung can say no to that. In fact, he would appreciate the company, so he nods with a soft smile and lays down on his side, curled up to allow enough room for both of them to lay down. They can’t really do so without touching, but Taehyung finds that Jimin doesn’t retreat away from his touch like he had expected him to. In fact, he even comes closer until they’re curled around each other’s bodies, relaxing in the shared warmth in the increasingly colder night. It takes a while for either of them to drift off to sleep, but they must eventually, because the next thing Taehyung hears is the ever predictable clanging of Hanjin’s gong. 

  
  


When he groans and rolls over to sit up, he startles at the feeling of Jimin held tight in his own arms. He’d forgotten that he tends to hug his pillows or blankets when he’s sleeping, and Jimin must have made a suitable replacement in the night. The other boy doesn’t seem to mind, however, snuggling back into Taehyung’s chest and throwing his arm over his own face. Huh, Taehyung never would’ve thought him to be a cuddler, but everyone has surprises, he guesses. 

“Hyung, get up, you’re squishing my arm,” Taehyung rasps, trying to tug his tingling arm out from under the other boy, but his weight is solid and unyielding. 

“Mm-mm,” Jimin responds, shaking his head back and forth and pouting his already plump lips out petulantly. “‘S too early.”

“Jiminnn,” Taehyung whines, kicking at the other’s legs, “Get _off._ I’m not going to get in trouble for oversleeping just because _you_ insist on acting like a child.”

The gong sounds again, right outside his tent. 

Taehyung sighs in exasperation and shoves hard at Jimin’s back, finally pulling his arm free. It’s heavy and limp and he can’t feel his fingers, so he slaps it a few times with his other hand and wiggles it as much as he can, feeling the sting of blood sluggishly returning to his veins. Jimin groans and sits up lazily, stretching his arms above his head before rubbing his face and smacking his lips a few times. 

“What can I say? You’re a comfy pillow.” He smacks playfully at Taehyung’s shoulder, earning him a smack back as Taehyung shifts to crawl out of the tent. The light filtering through the canvas is gray, the mornings getting progressively darker as they approach winter. He shudders in anticipation of the cold weather and loads of snow he knows they’re in for. He hopes they’ll at least be provided with more adequate clothing, he’s freezing in his thin pants and tunic. 

When he steps out onto the hard-packed dirt of the ground, he does _not_ expect to be faced with Jeongguk, their noses nearly bumping as he rights himself. He yelps and tries to move back into the tent, but Jimin is right behind him. 

“Um, morning, sir,” he coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but the other man’s curious eyes. “Where is Hanjin-ssi?” He doesn’t mean to sound rude, but Jeongguk is holding Hanjin’s gong and was clearly the one banging it so enthusiastically outside of his tent. 

“He isn’t feeling well this morning. I was already awake, so I thought I should take on the task of…” He trails off when Jimin pushes Taehyung to the side to emerge and stand beside him, looking just as surprised to see the colonel instead of Hanjin. 

“Daeryeong-nim, good morning,” Jimin greets, with more composure than Taehyung could muster. It must be easier when he’s not falling head over heels for him, Taehyung thinks bitterly. 

Jeongguk gives them both a curt nod, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks between the two men with something indiscernible written across his face. Taehyung doesn’t care to find out as he coughs and bows politely before pushing past the colonel towards the big tent where breakfast awaits, straightening his clothes and hair as he walks brusquely. Jimin catches up to him just a few seconds after, staring at the side of Taehyung’s like he has something pressing to say. Taehyung ignores him for a few steps before turning to face him and shooting him a questioning glance. 

“What?” he asks, even though he anticipates the question before it’s even said. Something in Jimin’s wide, mischievous eyes tells him what this is about. 

“What was that, huh? You and Jeon? Our commanding officer?” His voice is curious and teasing, and he pokes Taehyung repeatedly in the side as they walk. Taehyung bats at his hands and scoffs, trying to seem as nonchalant as he can. 

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, hyung, stop poking me,” he says, looking straight forward and avoiding Jimin’s interrogating stare. 

“That is exactly what someone says when they _do_ know what I’m talking about, Taehyung. Did you kiss? Fuck? See each other naked? Touch each other or something? What was that weird tension between you?” He continues poking with every question until Taehyung scowls and grabs his hand before twisting him around into an arm bar, pressing down until Jimin whines in pain and bends over. 

“Stop poking me! We didn’t do anything, alright?” 

“Gods, sorry! Let me go, asshole,” Jimin mutters, but before he can obey he’s already falling as Jimin sweeps his leg under Taehyung’s, knocking him to the ground with a screech. Jimin falls on top of him and they roll around in the dirt, wrestling playfully with a chorus of huffs and growls and squeaks as they battle for victory. 

“Fine, fine! Truce!” Taehyung gasps, holding an arm up in front of his face. He’s on his back, Jimin straddling his stomach with his arm locked around his leg and his other hand pressing into the opposite shoulder, holding him firmly to the ground. Jimin relents and lets him roll away, a shit-eating grin still gracing his face. 

“Kim Taehyung, you are _going_ to tell me what happened between you and Jeon, and you are going to do it _now._ ” 

“No, actually, I don’t think I will,” Taehyung retorts, pushing to his feet and flicking Jimin’s nose with a giggle before he takes off in a sprint across the rest of the short distance to the big tent. The smile quickly slips from his face when he catches sight of Jeongguk with his arms crossed a little ways away, standing with the other officers, but his eyes are trained on Jimin where he still stands. His eyes flick to Taehyung and then right back to Jimin, something dark and stormy brewing in his expression. His lips are drawn into a thin line and he glares at Jimin from under his eyebrows, almost looking petulant with how clearly he’s displaying his displeasure. It almost looks like he’s _jealous._

Huh. 

Taehyung shakes off that odd thought as he reaches to grab his breakfast. He can still feel the hawk-like eyes of the colonel to his side as he moves, but he decides not to indulge him with a glance in response. He feels a little guilty and awkward—after all, he was the one who up and left when they almost kis… 

You know what? Forget it. If the colonel insists on being so hot-and-cold about this whole ‘strangers by day, sort of friends by night’ relationship they have started to pick up, Taehyung doesn’t think he’s obligated to play that game. He may be incorrect in his guesses about Jeongguk’s intentions, but if he’s not, then it’s going to take a little bit more than becoming privy to his first name to sway him into agreement. Because Kim Taehyung is absolutely not head over heels for that man and he is most definitely not pining after him, no is n-

“Kim Taehyung.” 

Upon further consideration, he might be _slightly_ head over heels. 

He whips around, abandoning his previous airs to stare into the face of the colonel with a “yes, sir?” 

“I want you to accompany me on a hunting excursion later today. You look like you need… to be taught, gain some experience. Hunting.” His voice is steady in tone, and to anyone else it might have sounded perfectly reasonable, but Taehyung’s never heard him sound so uncharacteristically choppy and unnatural. 

He quirks a curious eyebrow, his heartbeat speeding up just the slightest bit, but he stutters out another soft “y-yes, sir”.

Jeongguk stares at him for another moment, expression unreadable, before he spins on his heel and marches back to the other officers without another word. Taehyung sighs and lets his shoulders slump as he looks down into his porridge. How is he supposed to not fall for flirtatious mind games when simply the sound of the man’s voice makes his heart race? He scurries away and plops down in the grass where he, Jimin, and Seokjin usually sit and waits for the other two to join him. 

Before he even sees him, he hears Jimin singing “Taehyung has a cru-ush, Taehyung has a cru-ush,” over and over, far too loud for his liking. He debates whether he should swing a fist at his hyung’s face or bury his own head in his arms and refuse to speak to him ever again. He opts for a bit of both, hiding his burning face in his hands as Jimin approaches before socking him earnestly in the chest as soon as he sits down next to him. 

“Yah, that hurt! Respect your elders!” Jimin exclaims, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “These muscles are precious and hard-earned, no punching allowed.”

“Respect your dongsaeng, you ass,” Taehyung retorts, kicking Jimin more lightly in the shin. “I _don’t_ have a crush.” 

“You do,” Jimin continues in a singsong voice, ducking just as Taehyung swings his fist towards his face. 

“I will _smite_ you,” Taehyung growls, fully prepared to swing again when an open hand knocks his head to the side from behind. It isn’t with much force, just enough to distract him and throw him off balance as Seokjin gracefully folds his legs and lowers to the grass on his other side. 

“So, what has my loving and personable dongsaengs up in arms today?” He asks, as casually as if he were asking about the weather. 

“Taehyung has a cr-” Jimin starts, but Taehyung lunges and tackles him, clapping a palm over his big fucking mouth. 

“A crush? Yes, I am aware,” Seokjin replies, still as calm and composed as ever as he spoons porridge into his mouth politely. Taehyung looks back at Jimin, whose eyebrows creep a bit closer to each other in confusion before his expression deflates, the fun of announcing the secret clearly spoiled. He easily pushes Taehyung off of him and rights himself before reaching for his food and shoving a spiteful bite into his mouth. 

“I can’t believe you told hyung before me,” he mumbles grumpily as he glares at Taehyung. 

“Huh, I wonder why,” Taehyung retorts sarcastically, starting to eat his own porridge. 

They eat in relative peace, with occasional cheerful comments or questions from Seokjin and unenthusiastic responses from Jimin and Taehyung. Begrudgingly, when it’s time to fetch their gear for training today, Taehyung stands first and extends a hand out to help Jimin do the same. After staring at it with apparent consideration of rejecting the offer, the older boy lets a smile break out across his face and accepts it with a laugh. Taehyung doesn’t understand how such a pugnacious individual can have the sweetest, most healing smile when he wants to. When he’s really smiling, Jimin’s eyes pinch into happy little crescents and his one slightly jagged front tooth peeks out over his bottom lip. Jimin smiles with his whole face, Taehyung thinks, and it’s quite a lovely thing to behold in its rarity. 

It’s only a few minutes after the men have gathered their swords and protective armor that Captain Min steps out and strides towards the field where they are assembled, securing the heavy, bulky pieces to their arms, legs, and chests. 

“No armor today,” he proclaims, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Taehyung looks with dismay at Jimin, who is his sparring partner, hands stilling on the stiff cords of his breastplate. The other boy is also staring with a similar expression, but his gaze is directed at Captain Min. 

“If you only ever practice with protection, you will not learn to effectively dodge enemy blows,” the colonel explains, as if that negates how dangerous this idea sounds. “Today you will spar in only your clothing. Consider it your responsibility to keep yourselves from getting injured or killed.” 

Jeongguk glances nervously at Captain Min and leans in to whisper something in his ear, but whatever he says gains no reaction. The clanking sound of metal hitting the ground and other metal is heard as the men hesitantly remove their armor, looking around anxiously at each other. Low murmurs of words like “crazy” and “dangerous” can be heard, but no one dares to openly object. 

“Try not to kill me, yeah?” Jimin mutters to Taehyung with a sideways glance as he lets his breastplate fall with a _thunk_ to the ground, “I have yet to tell that bastard I still love him.” 

Taehyung scoffs as he steps away from his own personal pile of armor. “I don’t know what it is that you see in him, considering he acts like he wants us all dead, but I’ll try to keep you alive long enough to confess.” There’s only a slight amount of jest in his voice. 

Soon, the air sings with the hesitant first glances of sword against sword until it morphs into a symphony of grunts, groans, and exclamations accompanied by a chorus of strikes and defenses, blows and blocks. 

Miraculously, no one is injured by the time they’re told to take a momentary break. As the men wipe sweat from their foreheads or gulp water from their canteens, Captain Min just surveys the group with unimpressed eyes. 

“I told you to remove the armor because you’re supposed to _fight,”_ he huffs, looking over at Jeongguk, who has a blank expression on his face. “Shall we show them how it’s done, Daeryeong-nim?” It doesn’t necessarily sound like a request as much as a challenge, and Jeongguk really has no option to decline as he unsheathes the long sword hanging at his side with a sigh. Captain Min pulls out his own sword, which is slightly more curved than Jeongguk’s, and bows his head politely. Then he attacks, and Jeongguk deflects. 

It’s terrifying spellbinding to behold. The match has everyone spellbound, no one daring to look away as every movement and every breath is another chance for catastrophe. Taehyung finds himself clenching his fists at his sides as he watches the two men lunge at each other again and again. It’s remarkable really, the grace with which they do so, almost like a deadly dance, a push and pull of power. Taehyung hopes that neither man would truly think of injuring the other, but looking at the fire blazing in both of their eyes, he can’t be sure. Only a moment later, his question is answered when Captain Min swipes his sword in an arc that Jeongguk barely steps back from in time to keep his head, but his own raised arm is grazed in the process. He hisses, but he never lets his eyes leave his opponent. It seems to give him more drive, a bit of skin in the game, one might say, and he’s quickly pushing back, taking over the power. For a split second, so fast that he later attributes it to his imagination, Taehyung sees him glance his way and catch his eye. After that, he growls with determination and it’s only a few calculated strikes later that he has Captain Min on his knees, throat bared to the threatening edge of his blade. 

No one seems to know quite how to react. The air is tense as the two men continue glaring at one another, chests heaving and glistening beads of sweat slipping down their jawlines. The men observing look around at each other, unsure of what they’re supposed to do. 

After a horrible moment, Jeongguk’s face relaxes and he lets his sword drop, turning his back on Captain Min and sticking his weapon into the ground so that he can inspect his hurt arm. 

“Do you see now?” Captain Min huffs as he pushes to his feet, “You have to _fight_. When you encounter the enemy, they will take no mercy on you. You defend yourself or you die.” He gestures for them to resume, and no one vocalizes the obvious: that Captain Min himself would have been the one to die in this situation. 

Taehyung turns back to Jimin, whose face is somewhat pale and grim looking, giving a small nod of warning before he leaps forward with his sword outstretched. Jimin parries and swings his own sword in retaliation, and they go back and forth with as much tenacity as they dare. The sounds of fighting and metal and grunting again fill the air, this time multiplied in intensity from before. They go for nearly thirty minutes, and by the time Captain Min again calls for them to stop, everyone is gasping for breath, only a few unscathed by their opponent’s blade. Luckily there are no serious injuries, but most of the men have scratches, insignificant gouges, or scrapes trickling with blood somewhere on their bodies. Taehyung looks apologetically at the tear in Jimin’s tunic where a small cut over his ribs seeps a bit of blood into the fabric, then cranes his neck to see the long scratch stretching over his own shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles as Jimin touches a hand to his ribs, looking back at him with just as much remorse. 

“Me too,” he responds, reaching out and gingerly brushing his fingers over Taehyung’s shoulder. It doesn’t hurt too badly, nothing more than if he had fallen on a rock and split the skin a little bit, but it stings slightly at the other’s touch. 

“That’s enough sword work for today, take an hour for your meal and see the medic if you need to. Be back here directly after.” Captain Min barks as he observes the men nursing their wounds and dabbing sweat from their faces and necks. Taehyung looks instinctively to Jeongguk, whose eyes are, somewhat predictably, already on him. He hasn’t yet sought attention for his arm, so it’s still bleeding where he holds it close to his body. As soon as the men start to disperse for their break, Taehyung sets off in his direction. He isn’t sure why, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do or say once he gets there, but it’s like an invisible string of some sort is connected to his chest, pulling him forward to Jeongguk. The man’s dark eyes follow him as he strides closer, looking confused as to why he would approach him after deliberately avoiding him for so many days. Taehyung stops a few feet in front of him, chewing on the inside of his lip as he tries to decide what he should say. He almost feels like apologizing for ignoring the older man, but he can’t bring those words to his tongue. 

“H-how is your arm?” Is what he opts for instead, brushing his fingers over his own shoulder. 

“It’s fine, just a scratch,” Jeongguk replies cautiously, regarding Taehyung with barely concealed curiosity, his eyes huge and sparkling in all their doe-eyed glory. Taehyung has to refrain from reaching out and caressing Jeongguk’s cheek, he looks so soft and hopeful that it makes something in his chest clench. 

“We should go to the medic, get ourselves looked at,” Taehyung says, gesturing to his own slightly bloody arm. 

“No, definitely not,” Jeongguk replies as he stands, catching Taehyung off guard. “Everyone is going to the medic, these are trivial enough that we can tend to them ourselves.” He holds out his uninjured hand like he wants Taehyung to take it, and he surprises himself by actually doing it, hesitantly slipping his slender fingers into Jeongguk’s strong ones. This earns him a grin and a squeeze to his palm. “I have supplies in my tent, I always keep some handy.” Jeongguk whispers like it’s a fun little secret before he sets off in a brisk pace towards the center of camp, Taehyung barely keeping up with him.

In only a moment they’re arriving at a tent that sits near the center of the camp, looking very similar to Taehyung’s from the outside, but much larger and more spacious. Jeongguk lets go of his hand and pulls back the canvas, tipping his head for Taehyung to enter first. He steps in and looks around, realizing he’s probably the first soldier in this camp, besides Jeongguk himself of course, to be inside this tent. There isn’t much to see, just a low bed that looks enviously larger and more comfortable than his own, a short wooden stool, and several large packs of belongings stacked against one side. In Taehyung’s tent, he has to find a place for his lantern to sit on the dirt where it won’t set his bedding or his clothes on fire, but Jeongguk’s unlit lantern hangs from the ceiling. Brilliant. 

“Did you do that yourself?” Taehyung blurts out before he can think better of it, blushing a bit as he points to the lantern swinging just a hair’s width above his head. Jeongguk looks over his shoulder at him from where he’s bent over his things, digging out his medical supplies. 

“Hang it, you mean?” 

“Yes,” Taehyung says with a nod, “It’s really smart, then you don't have to worry about your stuff catching on fire.”

Jeongguk giggles and stands up straight in front of Taehyung, and they’re nearly exactly the same height. “Your tent is too short, silly, it would dangle right where your head is. Can’t have you setting your hair on fire, can we?” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of Taehyung’s eyes as he says it, making Taehynug’s breath stick in his throat like jelly. He gapes and tries in vain to formulate a response, eventually settling for averting his eyes and clearing his throat several times. 

“Sit down,” Jeongguk commands softly, setting a small parcel on the ground in front of the bed before kneeling down next to it. 

“No, you first,” Taehyung says, kneeling down as well and patting the corner of the bed for the other man to move to it. Jeongguk looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and plops down on the bed with a small indignant pout on his lips. Taehyung carefully rolls up his sleeve so that the slash on his forearm is exposed, sucking his teeth a bit at it. It’s neat and thin, but it runs deep. It must sting terribly. Jeongguk doesn’t react as Taehyung carefully wets a clean rag and dabs away the drying blood caked to his skin, doesn’t wince or make any expression that displays pain. Even when Taehyung hesitantly pulls at the edges of the cut to make sure there’s no dirt inside, he doesn’t move, although Taehyung himself feels a bit like vomiting at the raw flesh he exposes. He quickly, a little clumsily, unrolls a bandage and wraps it around Jeongguk’s forearm until the cut is covered up completely, breathing a sigh of relief when its thin crimson edges disappear under clean white cotton. 

“Good?” Taehyung asks, flitting his eyes up to look at Jeongguk, who is staring at him with an expression Taehyung could nearly describe as _tender_. 

“You stick your tongue out when you’re focused,” is how Jeongguk responds, but he immediately blushes and turns his eyes away like he hadn't meant to say that out loud. Taehyung giggles and sits down next to Jeongguk on the bed, nudging him gently with his uninjured shoulder. 

“My turn, Daeryeong-nim.” He says the last bit almost teasingly, wiggling his shoulders. Jeongguk shakes his head amusedly and grabs a fresh rag before sitting down on Taehyung’s other side, the one with a gash on it. “Just clean it, it doesn’t need a bandage,” Taehyung says, untying his tunic and pushing it over that shoulder. When nothing happens, he looks over, and Jeongguk is looking like he’s having a crisis of some sort, with wide eyes and hands floating in midair like he doesn’t know where to put them. 

“Jeongguk?” Taehyung prompts, the use of his first name rolling strangely off of his tongue, especially during the day when just a few moments ago he was very much playing the part of the Colonel. Jeongguk looks up, seemingly snapping out of his daze and resting his fingers on Taehyung’s shoulder so lightly they feel like bugs tickling his skin, and Taehyung is tempted to slap them. He doesn’t, but he leans into Jeongguk’s touch a bit, hoping that’ll encourage him to not be so hesitant. 

“I’m not going to break, you know, you don’t have to be so gentle,” Taehyung scoffs, and Jeongguk looks puzzled by this. 

“I-I know,” he stutters, increasing the pressure of his touch minutely, “I just don’t want to hurt you.” He looks genuinely concerned, and Taehyung’s heart does a funny little twist in his chest. 

“You won’t, it’s just a scratch. Wipe the blood off and I’ll be good, I don’t even need a bandage, we should be getting back out soon anyway.” Taehyung feels a little annoyed, underestimated even. While he’s mostly flattered that Jeongguk insists on being so gentle with him, he doesn’t know how in the world the officer expects him to survive a full-blown battle if he’s terrified of the damage of a minuscule scrape. He’s just about to reach out and grab the rag and clean the wound himself when Jeongguk finally pats the flesh around the scrape with it first. He’s so careful that Taehyung hardly feels it at all, and after only a moment Jeongguk sits back. With a glance over his shoulder, Taehyung can see that the little scabs of blood are all gone and the cut is a nice raw pink color. Jeongguk, with timid fingers, reaches back and pulls the edge of Taehyung’s tunic over his shoulder, making sure to avoid brushing the sore skin around the cut. Taehyung ties the cords in the front himself, but Jeongguk doesn’t remove his hand from where it now rests over his collarbone. He’s staring again, his eyes trained on the plane of Taehyung’s chest and throat uncovered by his clothes. Taehyung stares at him staring, looking at his long, dark lashes and the sharp angles of his high cheekbones and the straight bridge of his nose. There’s a little scar on his left cheek, and Taehyung feels the urge to reach out and run his fingers over it. Just as he’s about to, Jeongguk brushes his knuckles against his throat, and suddenly, he can’t breathe. It’s so gentle, like the kiss of a butterfly’s wings, almost reverent. It’s fleeting, and all too soon Jeongguk is backing away like he’s touched something he wasn’t supposed to. He stands abruptly and clears his throat, absently running his fingers over the bandage on his arm. 

“We should be getting back,” he says, echoing Taehyung, and he could almost laugh at how nervous and awkward he looks. Gone is the confident, cocky Colonel Jeon of an hour ago; now he’s shy and unsure Jeongguk. A question about his change in demeanor rests on the tip of Taehyung’s tongue, but he swallows it back and stands with a nod. He can ask at a different time. 

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice, tilting his head towards his shoulder

“You’ll come hunting with me, still?” Jeongguk says, and although it should sound like a command, its intonation is more like that of a question, a plea. Taehyung nods with a soft smile, still amused at how _boyish_ Jeongguk looks when he’s nervous. He follows Jeongguk out into the sunlight with a grin twitching on his lips. 

  
  



	5. Breathe Me

Taehyung doesn’t know what exactly he expected when Jeongguk had asked him to join him hunting, but it certainly was not this. Perhaps he had imagined galloping on horseback in a thrilling chase through the forest, not traipsing on foot through the mush and mud near the stream looking for deer tracks. It’s been nearly an hour now, and his patience is running thin, his will to continue even thinner. He’s hungry and hot and sweaty, and this is not nearly as much fun as he thought it would be. His arrows are heavy where they’re packed into a quiver slung over his back, and his legs are tired from dragging his feet through the mud that’s so vehement on sucking his body down into the earth. Complaints of all sorts are poised on his tongue, but he keeps his mouth shut. The last thing he wants is for Jeongguk to think he’s weak and childish, so he grits his teeth and follows his officer obediently. They had three other men with them at the start, but they split up several minutes ago to try to cover more ground, so only Taehyung is following behind Jeongguk. 

Jeongguk slings his quiver and bow into the grass to their right and kneels down in front of him to inspect something on the ground, and Taehyung, as clumsy as ever, gets a foot stuck particularly hard in the mud and he topples forward with a squeak of surprise. Jeongguk somehow twists around just in time to catch him before he fully faceplants into the muck, but not before Taehyung’s hand slaps into the ground and he splashes flecks of mud onto his and Jeongguk’s faces. They both flinch, and Taehyung feels his cheeks start to burn hot with embarrassment. He’s very close to Jeongguk’s face, and he wonders to himself how they keep ending up in situations like this. He’s about to apologize profusely when Jeongguk bursts out laughing, a full-blown, throaty laughter that makes him toss his head back and squeeze his eyes shut. It’s a gorgeous, rich sound, and something about it makes Taehyung’s chest feel hot inside. He watches with bewilderment as Jeongguk tries to compose himself, chuckling and wiping a hand across his face, smearing more mud on it. When Jeongguk lowers his gaze to his, his dark eyes sparkling and mirthful, he can’t help but crack a smile of his own. He’s well aware that they’re staring at each other, dirty and giggling like idiots, but he doesn’t think he wants to stop. If he never stops hearing Jeongguk laugh, he doesn’t think he would be too upset about it. 

“Got a little something there,” Jeongguk teases, reaching out and dragging his thumb over Taehyung’s cheek, then his nose, then his forehead. Taehyung snorts and rolls his eyes. 

“So do you,” he says back, reaching out his own very dirty hand and swiping it haphazardly across Jeongguk’s face. “Oh no, now there’s more,” he sing-songs, bursting into another fit of giggles. Jeongguk growls playfully and pushes him so that his butt plops into the mud, the sound making them both laugh hysterically. They go back and forth, flinging handfuls of mud at each other and laughing until their stomachs ache, they’re gasping for breath, and they’re both so dirty that they could blend in with the ground itself. 

“We’re really good at hunting,” Taehyung breathes, clutching his stomach and bending over. That sends Jeongguk into yet another fit of giggles as he pushes himself up from the ground, not without slipping a few times. 

“Yes, yes we are,” he says, raising his eyes to meet Taehyung’s. It feels like the breath is knocked out of him, and not because of the laughter. He feels something new, indescribable, something growing in his stomach and tightening in his chest. The smile slips from his face as he stares at Jeongguk, the man looking good even when he’s dirty, perhaps even more so. Despite the mud, something in Taehyung longs to reach out and touch Jeongguk, be close to him, kiss him. It would be easy, they’re standing close again, and he knows that the rest of their hunting party has long since moved to a different section of the woods. They’re alone. 

He takes a tentative step forward, feeling his heartbeat ricocheting chaotically in his ears. Jeongguk’s smile is gone too, replaced by a darker expression that makes Taehyung’s spine tingle strangely. He looks down at Taehyung’s lips and back to his eyes, then back again. Taehyung really wants to kiss him. 

“We should, uh, clean up,” is what he says instead, suddenly turning towards the creek and pinching his eyes shut with embarrassment. Why did he say that? Why did he turn away? Does Jeongguk want to kiss him, too? Would his first kiss be ruined by mouthfuls of mud? His head buzzes with questions and thoughts, and he starts to feel a bit overwhelmed, when a strong hand grips his elbow from behind. 

“You were about to slip,” Jeongguk explains, but he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead he steps past Taehyung and into the water, pulling him along with him until they’re thigh deep in the creek, fully clothed. Not that it matters much, since the sticky, uncomfortable wetness of cold mud seeping through their clothes is already there, but the chilly water is still a surprise, and Taehyung gasps as goosebumps erupt on his arms and neck. The air itself isn’t cold at all, but the water is crisp and biting, and the way it laps around Taehyung’s legs makes him feel rejuvenated. His breath lodges in his throat when Jeongguk slowly slips his hand down from Taehyung’s elbow to rest on the tie of his tunic like he’s about to pull it, but he doesn’t. Not before he looks up at Taehyung with a question in his eyes, to which he receives a nod that Taehyung’s barely aware he's given. He pulls the string and Taehyung’s tunic falls open, exposing the mud smudged, goosebumped flesh of his torso. 

Taehyung must admit that he’s proud of the progress his physique has made during his time here. He used to be scrawny, his chest and stomach weak and ridged with the bones of his ribs, where now they are filled out and slope with toned muscle. He likes the way that his collarbones still jut out, even if his shoulders are broader and more defined than they were a month ago. Jeongguk has even seen him shirtless before, he thinks to himself, so he can’t decipher what exactly about the man’s gaze makes him feel so exposed. He likes the way that his body looks now, so why does he feel pierced to the core by something as simple as Jeongguk looking at him? Part of him wants to fold his arms over himself and cover his skin as much as he can, but he doesn’t. He has conflicting desires for more and less of the intensity with which Jeongguk is looking at him, eyes focused. He ultimately decides that he wants more. 

“We’re going to look strange showing back up to camp,” he murmurs, mostly to break the tense silence. Jeongguk’s eyes flit back to his face, a blush creeping over his cheeks. 

“Yes, empty handed on top of looking like… this,” Jeongguk gestures between the two of them, with their dirt-streaked skin and muddy clothes. Taehyung’s nearly forgotten that the purpose of this trek was to find dinner. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to mind as he reaches for his own tunic and pulls it off over his head, not even bothering to untie it. He has to resist the desire to run his fingers over the dips of muscle shaping Jeongguk’s torso, and feel the little goosebumps dotting his skin from the chill. Instead, to keep his hands occupied, he scoops up some water and splashes it over his face, gasping and spluttering at the cold as muddy water runs down his cheeks. Jeongguk giggles at him, but soon after he does the same thing before bending over and submerging his entire head in the creek, rubbing his hands over his face and hair. He comes up puffing air and shivering a little bit, but notably cleaner than when he dipped down. Taehyung would love to do the same, but he’s worried about his hair color washing out if he does. It’s about time for him to redye it, and there’s no way he can risk Jeongguk seeing him without it. He sighs, cupping more water into his hands and rubbing it over his face until his skin feels numb from the cold. 

“All gone?” He asks Jeongguk, who is scrubbing his shirt between his hands in the water. He looks up and grins, shaking his head no. 

“A little bit left,” he says softly, standing upright and reaching out a hand. Taehyung’s breath catches in his throat when Jeongguk brushes his thumb over his bottom lip, letting the touch linger. He tugs his lip down a little bit and lets it pop back into place before he retracts his hand. 

“Now it’s all gone,” he says after a moment, but he says it in a way that makes Taehyung think there wasn’t any mud there in the first place. His lip tingles where Jeongguk touched it, and without thinking he pulls it in between his teeth with a shy smile. 

Jeongguk sucks in a sharp breath, and all of a sudden his lips are on Taehyung’s. It’s brief, hesitant, over a second after its beginning. He pulls back immediately, looking like he’s swallowed his tongue, but Taehyung gives him no time to say anything before he’s darting forward and kissing him in return. He brings his hands up and slides them over Jeongguk’s jaw until he’s cupping his face, and he feels hands settle on his waist over the fabric of his tunic. They’re tentative and shy, so Taehyung brings his own hands down to rest on top of Jeongguk’s and squeezes gently to reassure him that he still wants more. This seems to be all the encouragement that Jeongguk needs, and soon his fingers are pushing beneath his open tunic and pressing into his bare skin. Taehyung feels him everywhere, his lips melding with Jeongguk’s, his skin burning where his hands brush along his sides, a turning, insistent heat low in his gut that he’s only ever felt when he’s alone. He tangles his fingers into Jeongguk’s hair and pulls him closer, deeper. Jeongguk groans softly into his mouth, and the heat simmering in his stomach flares up at the sound. Jeongguk’s fingertips wander over the expanse of his back with intentional touches that feel like they're trying to learn the patterns of his skin. 

Taehyung has never kissed anyone before, but the way he’s being kissed makes up for his lack of experience. He feels Jeongguk’s tongue roll gently against his lips and he opens his mouth a little, allowing it to slip in. The pace feels so right, he doesn’t feel inadequate when he’s following Jeongguk’s lead. He slides his own tongue next to Jeongguk’s, loving the way that they dance together. He lets his hands drag down the back of Jeongguk’s neck, over his broad shoulders, down his back, giggling a little into his lips at the shudder he earns. Jeongguk bites at his lip, and he lets out a sound akin to a whimper before he can stop himself. 

It’s Jeongguk who pulls away first, albeit reluctantly. “We should finish cleaning up and get back, I doubt we’ll find anything worth hunting now.” He brushes a finger tenderly over Taehyung’s cheek, smiling at him. Taehyung feels a little disappointed that they have to stop, but they’ve wasted a lot of time already and have nothing to show for the time they've been gone from camp. Taehyung can’t bring himself to regret it.

They scrub themselves free of mud as best they can, giggling all the while, before climbing back up to the bank to collect their things. Taehyung’s quiver has splotches of mud on it, but Jeongguk’s is clean enough. They’re still dripping water as they make the trek through the forest towards the camp, stealing little glances and each other and smiling shyly when they catch the other looking. Taehyung feels giddy, like his heart could leap right from his chest and soar up into the trees. 

“Wait, stop,” Jeongguk suddenly says in a hushed tone, stopping in his tracks. Taehyung looks at him confusedly, but Jeongguk holds a finger to his lips to tell him to stay silent. He slowly reaches back for an arrow and nocks it in his bow, aiming it at something ahead of them before he exhales and lets it fly. A rustling breaks out in the brush, and it’s then that Taehyung spots a small deer, fallen still on the ground several meters ahead. Jeongguk takes his hand in his own and pulls him forward until they’re right next to it. The arrow is sticking out from the front of its rib cage, right in the spot that Taehyung knows is the target when hunting. A lethal shot to the heart before the animal can struggle or run too far and make the meat tough, that’s what he learned. 

Taehyung has never been hunting before. He’s only recently learned the theory of how to do it properly, and in actuality, seeing the glassy eyes of the deer staring at him makes his gut twist unpleasantly. At home, he had occasionally helped his mother pluck and butcher the chickens they kept, but this feels different. He has to look away, stare at his feet instead of the empty eyes of the deer. Next to him, Jeongguk kneels and looks at the dead animal. 

“Thank you for your life,” he whispers, bowing his head respectfully. Taehyung does the same, getting onto his knees and bowing his head. The moment is somber and unexpected, and Taehyung doesn’t feel as giddy anymore. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything else, just stands up before leaning down and slinging the deer over his shoulders. They aren’t far from camp, and soon they come into the clearing. It’s late afternoon, the sun riding low over the mountains and casting an orange light and long shadows over the space. When they stride up to the main tent, Hanjin is sitting cross-legged in front of it with a long, skinny pipe stuck between his teeth. He looks up skeptically at them, mouth pinched in what seems to be its permanent scowl. 

“What happened to you two?” He asks, openly eyeing their wet, haphazard appearances. Jeongguk sighs and slips the deer down to the ground at his feet. 

“We were getting dinner, Hanjin-ssi. If we happened to trek through a creek to get it, that’s only because we were trying to find food for the hard-working soldiers waiting for us to return.” The statement is pointed, a jab. Now that Taehyung thinks about it, he doesn’t know what purpose Hanjin serves other than banging his gong every morning and sending slimy, judgemental glances at anyone who crosses his path. He directs such a glance at Jeongguk now, looking with distaste at the animal laying before him. 

Jeongguk turns to walk away, and Taehyung follows him. “What was that about?” He asks, noticing a bitter change in Jeongguk’s demeanor. 

“His only job here is to keep me on my toes, keep a record that will get back to my father if anything is not up to his standards. Unfortunately for me, that seems to be nearly everything I do. The men eat too much or too little, I work them too hard or not hard enough, they’re too lazy or too aggressive. There’s no pleasing him. Someday I would love to wring his skinny little neck.” He’s dead serious, Taehyung can tell, but he still can’t help but snicker at the thought. It really would be a sight to see.

Jeongguk slaps him lightly on the arm, but he’s smiling too. “I’m serious! It would be no loss to this outfit if he weren’t here.”

“Don’t say that, I’m sure he serves some… purpose,” Taehyung says, trying to hold in a snort. 

“Yes, being a pain in my ass,” Jeongguk fires back, and this time Taehyung can’t contain his laughter. 

“And waking me up every day so you can see me,” Taehyung says without thinking, and as soon as he's processed the words, he clamps his mouth shut and feels heat rush to his cheeks. That was too much, that was too flirtatious, he’s going to scare Jeongguk off. He braces himself to be rejected, even if they were kissing barely an hour ago. 

Jeongguk just giggles and taps him affectionately under the chin, no traces of discomfort on his face. “I would just like to remind you that this very morning, I was the one who woke you up,” He leans in a little bit closer. “And maybe I did it so that I could be the first to see you.” Taehyung’s breath hitches at that, and he feels butterflies burst to life in his stomach. He should respond, say something to a similar effect, but he can’t make any words come out. 

Jeongguk giggles again at how flustered he is. “Get yourself cleaned up, we have dinner soon.” He looks at him for another moment, a look in his eyes like he wants to say something else, but he ends up just turning on his heel and walking off towards his own tent. Taehyung watches him go until he disappears behind the canvas. 

———

“Jimin, I will say it again. I don’t know what it is that you see in that man, I’m nearly positive he’s a spy here to kill us all before we even get to fight in any battles.”

Jimin just scoffs and rolls his eyes, not daring to whisper anything back for fear of being heard. They’re in the forest again, later that night. Much later, in fact, in the dead of night when everything is eerily still and silent. Captain Min had informed them after supper that they would be trekking through the forest tonight and had advised them to rest up before departing. Taehyung had laid in his tent, trying honestly to sleep, but to no avail because his mind was buzzing with a million thoughts about Jeongguk. It’s strange how that happens, how one unassuming person can so quickly become the center of all of your attention. When he thinks about Jeongguk, some of the butterflies in his stomach are happy, flitting about gracefully, while others are darker, their wings feeling as if they’re razors tearing at his insides. These ones are sprouts of insecurity, doubt, anxiety. Something about the way that Jeongguk always looks at Taehyung makes him feel special and adored, but a deep fear comes along with that: would he look at me that way if he knew what I really look like? If he knew what they say I am?

These are the things that Taehyung dwells on as he lays in the grass on his stomach beside Jimin. They’re doing what Captain Min had called “war games”, although nothing about this feels like a game. The men are in two teams, each with a base to guard. Taehyung has observed the village children play games like this back home, but this is the “grown-up”, more horrifying version of those games. The men are unarmed, their faces smeared with dark paint to assist their camouflage. They’re all dressed in black, sneaking about the trees and bushes as covertly as they can manage. Taehyung feels jumpy, on edge, waiting for the moment a rival soldier leaps out in front of him. 

“The point of this exercise,” Captain Min had said, “is stealth. You will only succeed if you use the techniques I have taught you to be silent, quick, and discreet.” 

Taehyung doesn’t feel like any of those things. He and Jimin are guards, laying several yards in front of their base with the purpose of alerting their fellow teammates should an enemy try to sneak up on them. It’s cold and the grass is dewy, an uncomfortable chill cutting through their thin clothing. Taehyung wonders, not for the first time, when they will be supplied with more weather-appropriate clothing. Perhaps it’s a part of their training to become accustomed to harsh conditions on the battlefield. 

“Tae, you should go to the right and stay behind that tree, I feel like we’re terrible guards if both of us are in one spot,” Jimin whispers, pointing to the tree in question. It’s an odd suggestion, considering they’ve been laying here for nearly twenty minutes without any hint of attackers, but Taehyung doesn’t argue, pushing to his feet as quietly he can and tiptoeing towards a large, fat tree at the corner of their base. He positions himself behind it, standing this time, peering out into the darkness ahead. It’s worse being alone; when Jimin was with him he didn’t pay as much attention to the shadows cast by the sliver of moon or the shapes his head would imagine in-between the trees in the blackness. Now, he has to dig his fingernails into the bark of the tree to distract himself from his own mind. He’s been standing there for what’s probably no more than five minutes (although it feels longer than that) when a hand claps over his mouth, muffling the surprised scream he lets out. The intruder spins him around and plants his back against the scratchy bark of the tree. Taehyung’s warning cry to his team is swallowed by a pair of soft lips pressing firmly to his own. 

It’s Jeongguk, of course. Taehyung is so shocked that he can’t even try to yell out again, instead just letting a little whimper fall into Jeongguk’s mouth. 

“What are you doing?” He hisses when Jeongguk finally pulls back, the thin moonlight just bright enough to make the stupid grin on his face visible. 

“I just missed you,” he responds, a hand cupping Taehyung’s face and the other pressing his hip into the tree. Taehyung grins back at him for a moment before he yells out, 

“Enemies!” 

Jeongguk’s face falls and he pouts at Taehyung. 

“Is that the diversion technique you use on everyone?” He leans in and whispers smugly into his ear, “You’ll have to do better than that, Daeryeong-nim.” 

Jeongguk growls and kisses him again, harder, perhaps a bit angrily. His aggressiveness makes heat shoot to Taehyung’s stomach, and he has to swallow back a whine as Jeongguk bites into his bottom lip. 

“Give me more time later and I’ll show you better.” Jeongguk says lowly against his ear, making Taehyung shiver. He might not be opposed to that. The next second, Jeongguk is gone, leaving an empty coldness where his touch burned before. Taehyung exhales shakily, his hands trembling a little bit where they rest at his sides. He wonders what better means for someone like Jeongguk. 

———

For Taehyung, kissing Jeongguk whenever he gets that chance is like keeping a special little secret that also happens to feel really nice. Sneaky pecks stolen during meal breaks, furtive trips together to the trees after everyone has retired, and on it goes. The emotional aftermath that bombards Taehyung each time is an ever growing monster, but he doesn't think about that when his body is wrapped around Jeongguk’s. 

This time, they’re in the forest, with gentle morning sunlight filtering through the trees overhead, birdsong and the joyful bubbling of the stream they’re sitting beside in the background. They have their backs against a very wide tree, kissing lazily with one of Taehyung’s legs thrown over Jeongguk’s lap. Taehyung can’t say how long they’ve been here, only that he feels like he doesn’t ever want to leave. He has his arms slung over Jeongguk’s shoulders, one hand massaging through his hair, the other drawing circles into the powerful muscles of his upper back. Jeongguk’s own hands are resting comfortably on his hips, his thumbs rubbing patterns into his skin when they occasionally slip under his tunic. 

They really did come here for a reason, but they naturally got sidetracked rather quickly. They’re supposed to fill up a huge water trough for the horses, but pouring water one bucket at a time into a trough only to have to lug it back, full, sounds like the very last thing Taehyung wants to do right now. Even when Jeongguk’s tongue isn’t tickling against his own, little breathy giggles being shared between the two of them, that sounds horrifically unappealing. He presses closer and tilts his head for a better angle, running his tongue over Jeongguk’s bottom teeth. He’s learning all the time how to be better at this, picking up things that Jeongguk does that he particularly likes, or things that he does that provoke a stronger reaction from the other. Taehyung knows that Jeongguk likes it when he bites his lip, and when he plays with the hair behind his ear, or when he lets himself be held in Jeongguk’s strong arms. 

“I bet Jimin is wondering where I am, I told him I would practice with him later,” Taehyung snickers, but with no intention of leaving for Jimin. 

Feeling adventurous, he moves his head to the side and nips his teeth on Jeongguk’s earlobe, knowing that he enjoys that being done to himself. Jeongguk pulls back then, a strange look on his face, like he has something that he doesn’t want to say, but knows he must. Taehyung looks at him with confusion for a moment, his hands still wrapped around his neck, but he doesn’t have time to ask if something is wrong before Jeongguk is diving back in and kissing him, hard. If what they were doing just a moment ago was lazy and exploratory, this is aggressive, heated, passionate. Jeongguk has only kissed him like this once before, with an intentional drive behind his movements, when he snuck up on him during the war games. Despite his surprise, Taehyung likes it a lot, and it makes that coil of heat that’s becoming more of a common occurrence flare up in his belly. Jeongguk rests a hand at the base of his throat, with just enough pressure to hold him in place so that he can press deeper into his mouth. 

“Woah,” Taehyung breathes when he finally has to pull away for a breath, feeling how slick his own lips are and enjoying the shine of Jeongguk’s, red and swollen. “What was that for?”

“What are you doing with Jimin?” Jeongguk asks bluntly, his voice unnervingly steady. Taehyung blinks at him in surprise, completely caught off guard. 

“What?” 

Jeongguk’s eyebrows creep together, and Taehyung feels a chill run down his spine. “I said, what are you doing with Jimin?” 

Taehyung swallows hard, noticing that Jeongguk’s hand is still resting against his throat. His grip is loose, safe, but something about it makes him feel like he should answer without delay. 

“I’m not doing anything with Jimin, I don’t know what you mean,” Jeongguk’s lip twitches and he tilts his head to one side, but it lacks any of its usual endearment. Now, it’s dangerous. 

“I’m not blind, Taehyung.” He gulps again. “I saw him come out of your tent multiple times, I know you spend a lot of time together.” His grip tightens a tiny bit and he leans in so that he’s next to Taehyung’s ear. “Tell me, can he kiss you the way that I do?” 

Taehyung feels like he could burst out laughing, but somehow that seems like an inappropriate response in this situation, even for something as ridiculous as what he’s just heard. “I wouldn’t know, actually, considering that we have never kissed and have absolutely zero intention of doing so.” Jeongguk looks surprised, maybe even a little bit embarrassed, so Taehyung takes advantage and peels his hand from his throat as he leans forward and whispers against his lips, 

“Even if we did, I’m sure that no one could kiss me like you do.”

Jeongguk groans and surges forward, capturing Taehyung’s lips in another kiss, this one hungrier than any before. “Say it again,” he demands softly, nipping at Taehyung’s bottom lip. 

“No one can kiss me like you do.” Taehyung repeats with a sigh as Jeongguk moves down and mouths at his jaw. He hasn’t done that before, and the sensation makes Taehyung shiver and have to bite down a whine. He tangles his fingers in Jeongguk’s hair as he kisses along his jaw, under his ear, and down his neck. The heat is stronger now, burning beneath his spine and in his gut, insistent and taking over his attention. Taehyung knows that this will be a problem soon, and if he’s honest, he has no idea if he wants Jeongguk to see him aroused. He’s shy and entirely inexperienced, and he’s nervous that Jeongguk will think he’s childish when he doesn’t know the reasons behind his complete lack of exposure to things like this in the past. 

And there it is. 

That nasty feeling cuts through his chest once again. He had hoped to put off its arrival until he could be alone with his thoughts, but clearly not. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of Jeongguk’s teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, but it’s difficult when he’s wondering if they would be doing this at all if Jeongguk knew about his secret. 

_No one has ever wanted me like this._

_I’ve never done this before because no one would dare to touch me._

_Would you still want me if I told you I’m cursed?_

This is what he wants to say, but he can’t. Jeongguk must have sensed his change in mood, because he pulls away with a worried look etched in his face. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop? We don’t have to–” 

“No, no, it’s not that,” Taehyung interrupts. He doesn’t want his own fears to make Jeongguk feel like he’s the one at fault for Taehyung’s lack of enthusiasm when it’s the opposite; he wants Jeongguk so badly that he’s trembling, his hands aching to reach out and pull him close again. “I just haven’t… ever done anything like this before,” he says, and it’s not a lie. He looks down at his hands, embarrassed to meet Jeongguk’s piercing eyes. 

“Do you want to?” Jeongguk asks gently, all of the previous fire dissipating from his demeanor, but there’s not a hint of judgement or surprise replacing it. Something about that makes Taehyung’s heart twist, as it seems to do whenever Jeongguk is involved. He thinks for a moment, debating in his head if this is a good idea. He wants this so much, but he’s worried about the barrier already constructing itself because of his secret. He feels like the one hidden part of him is blowing up beyond his control. But if everything that Jeongguk does know about him is genuine - his personality, his current appearance, his passion - then that is enough to make this worth it. It must be enough. He gives a small nod of his head before he can change his mind, and Jeongguk gives him a little smile and runs a finger tenderly along his jaw. 

“I’m going to make you feel good, I promise.” He leans in and kisses Taehyung, slowly at first, but soon the intensity builds to a roar. Taehyung forces any doubts from his mind and instead focuses on what he can feel on his skin, the brush of Jeongguk’s fingers down his arms and over his sides, the press of his slightly chapped lips on his, the pulse of his tongue against his own. He winds his arms around Jeongguk’s body again, running his fingers over his back and through his hair. 

After a few moments he’s nearly forgotten about his previous worries, enraptured with the way Jeongguk’s lips smile against his neck and kiss him in places he didn’t even know could feel so good. He feels hands drop to the front of his shirt and tug at the cords, letting the fabric fall open to expose his chest and stomach. Jeongguk shifts so that he’s laying in between his legs, starting to kiss lightly down the center of his chest and over the soft plane of his stomach, the sensation ticklish and making Taehyung giggle and squirm. 

“You too, I want to see you,” he mutters with a blush dusting his cheeks, reaching out and pulling Jeongguk’s own tunic open. He takes a moment to marvel at the sculpted lines of his muscles, especially now that they’re flexed to hold Jeongguk’s weight up over his own body, and can’t help but pull him in by the jaw for another kiss before Jeongguk returns to his chest. Taehyung sucks in a harsh breath when Jeongguk teases his tongue over one of his nipples, and he tosses his head back with a sigh of pleasure when he sucks lightly on the other, sending tingles of arousal shooting down his spine. When Jeongguk’s light little pecks over his skin turn into hot open-mouthed kisses and nips with his teeth, Taehyung feels himself growing harder by the second. Some part of him still feels too vulnerable and longs to cover himself up before Jeongguk can see, but he tells himself that Jeongguk is the one doing this to him and that he wants to see him affected. 

Jeongguk mouths at the waistband of his pants, and there’s definitely no hiding now with the way they’re straining. Everywhere his mouth touches feels like too much and not enough at the same time, the rosy patches he leaves in his wake burning hot. Taehyung’s chest rises and falls erratically, breaths becoming more labored, every sensation entirely new to him. He squeaks when Jeongguk rests a palm on his erection and massages it gently through the fabric of his pants, flicking his dark, heavy eyes up to meet Taehyung’s. He wraps the fingers of his other hand around the ties of his pants, but he doesn’t pull them yet. 

“Alright?” He asks, keeping his gaze steady, and Taehyung gulps before he quickly nods yes. Jeongguk smiles and plants a kiss over his belly button as he tugs the cords loose and hooks his fingers in the waistband. Taehyung closes his eyes as his pants are pulled down over his hips, and he flinches a bit when his flesh meets the crisp morning air, holding his breath. This is the first time that anyone has ever seen him like this, and he can’t help the way a knot of nerves tightens in his stomach. 

“You’re so beautiful, Tae,” Jeongguk whispers, and Taehyung peeks one eye open to see him running his eyes over his body with a look in his eyes that is somehow simultaneously hungry and admiring. As if his cheeks weren’t flushed enough before, a new heat rushes to his face and he tries to hide it behind his hands. 

“None of that, I want to see you,” Jeongguk chides gently, reaching up and wrapping his fingers around Taehyung’s wrists to pull them away. That only makes him blush more, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem to mind as he returns his attention to kissing over his hip bones. Taehyung doesn’t fight it when Jeongguk pushes on one of his legs to part them more, even if every nerve in him is sparking and scared to be so exposed. The thoughts disappear as soon as Jeongguk nips at the soft skin of his inner thighs, massaging his hands over places he can’t cover with his lips. Taehyung can tell Jeongguk is teasing him, so close to where his body longs for his touch the most, but he can’t complain when everything already feels so good. 

His mind short-circuits when Jeongguk finally licks a stripe up his cock, circling his fingers around the base at the same time. 

“Oh god,” he chokes, a hand flying out to tangle in Jeongguk’s hair. Jeongguk smiles and kisses the tip before wrapping his lips around it and sinking down slowly. Taehyung’s thighs tremble and his head lolls to the side, his voice catching in his throat when Jeongguk’s lips meet his fist. Nothing he’s been able to accomplish on his own has ever felt like this, and he feels both drunk on pleasure and sensitive to everything around him. He digs his fingers into Jeongguk’s scalp when he starts sliding up and down, twisting his wrist at the same time. He knows he won’t last long, the heat in his stomach rapidly tightening its grip and burning hotter. 

“Feels so good,” he slurs, unable to stop his eyes from rolling back in his head. As he moves, Jeongguk digs his tongue into the sensitive vein underneath, and Taehyung’s eyes roll back from how overwhelming the pleasure is, waves of it crashing relentlessly into him. He curses under his breath and starts rolling his hips into Jeongguk’s mouth, pleasure shooting through him when the other man moans around him. 

“Don’t stop, I’m going to—”

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s coming, his entire body tensing and trembling violently as he lets out a hoarse cry. Jeongguk flinches a little but he doesn’t draw back, gently working him through it until he slumps and exhales shakily, a loopy giggle spilling from his lips. Jeongguk pulls off and spits into the grass before he leans up and gives him a short, salty kiss, but Taehyung doesn't mind too much. 

“Thank you, that was amazing,” he says with a grin, “You’re amazing.” 

Jeongguk continues smiling softly at him as he pulls Taehyung’s pants back up, and it’s only when they both move to stand up that he notices Jeongguk hasn’t been taken care of. He must really enjoy giving pleasure, because his erection looks painfully strained against his pants. 

“Wait, wait,” Taehyung stutters when Jeongguk turns around to actually do the job they came for. “You… I, um, do you want…?” He really doesn’t know how to say this, much less why he’s offering something like that when he has no experience whatsoever. Jeongguk looks taken aback, and despite how intimately they were touching just moments ago, a blush rises in his cheeks and he looks down at his hands. 

“If you want to,” he murmurs, “I don’t want you to if you don’t want to.” Taehyung can tell that he actually really does want this, but his efforts in hiding it are both commendable and adorable. He steps closer and kisses Jeongguk, slowly, before he sinks down to his knees and looks up at him. 

“Show me?” He asks, softly for fear of his voice cracking if it were louder. Jeongguk’s breath hitches and he gulps as he stares down at him, nodding his head fervently. His shirt is still open, so Taehyung does what Jeongguk did and starts kissing along the waistband, hesitantly at first. Soon, the way Jeongguk shivers and lets out little sounds encourages him to become more confident. When Jeongguk is shaking beneath his lips, Taehyung slowly reaches for Jeongguk’s trousers and pulls them down, holding his breath again when his length is freed and twitches against his thigh. Taehyung blinks at it and the realization hits him that he’s never seen another man like this. Jeongguk’s is the first bare body he’s laid his eyes on and touched, and that thought makes the funny feeling twinge again in his chest. Something about this seems like an honor, Jeongguk is so beautiful that Taehyung is almost afraid to touch him. It might be the angle, he thinks to himself, but he looks big, and he’s certain he won’t be able to fit him down his throat as well as Jeongguk had done for him. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to be concerned about that, though, hissing through his teeth and wrapping his fingers through Taehyung’s hair when he gives his first tentative licks to the underside. He wrinkles his nose a little bit at the taste, but he decides it really isn’t that bad. Jeongguk’s hand on his head isn’t forceful, only encouraging as Taehyung opens his mouth and lets his cock slide over his tongue. 

“So good, Tae,” Jeongguk breathes, looking down at him with a gaze that sends shivers down Taehyung’s spine. Taehyung wonders absentmindedly if he looks funny from such an odd angle, but he decides it doesn’t matter and starts bobbing his head back and forth like Jeongguk had. He doesn’t get very far down before his throat tightens and he has to pull back, but Jeongguk seems to enjoy it nonetheless. Taehyung slides his hand down to the base to cover the space he can’t reach and expose the sensitive head, giving his wrist an experimental little flick that makes Jeongguk let out a shaky groan. He remembers something he’s only done to himself before, and his cheeks warm at the thought, but maybe Jeongguk will like it. He reaches down with his other hand and brushes his fingers lightly over Jeongguk’s balls before cupping them both in his large palm, encouraged by the way the other man’s voice cracks at the change. 

“Use your tongue,” Jeongguk says gently, and Taehyung remembers how good it felt to have Jeongguk’s tongue pressing against him while inside his mouth. He flattens his tongue and tries to make it more unyielding as he continues bobbing his head, and Jeongguk sighs and tilts his face towards the sky with his eyes fluttering shut. “You’re so good,” he whispers again, and Taehyung feels his cheeks burn even hotter at the praise. He never thought that hearing such simple words from Jeongguk could make him feel as giddy inside as they do, and he wants to hear more of those sweet words. He presses his tongue into the underside of the head and Jeongguk jerks, his abs tightening as he digs his fingers harder into his hair. 

“You’re so beautiful, Tae,” He murmurs, his thighs starting to quiver as Taehyung moves his head faster. It’s only another minute until Jeongguk pulls himself out of Taehyung’s mouth with a soft pop and wraps a hand on top of Taehyung’s, jerking them both together over his length until he comes on their fingers with a low moan. When he relaxes, his head tilting to one side like it so often does, Taehyung admires the sheen of sweat decorating his neck and collarbones, the sunlight making it sparkle like silver. 

“Was I good?” He asks under his breath, taking the clean hand that Jeongguk offers to pull him to his feet.

“Very good, especially for your first time,” Jeongguk laughs breathlessly, leaning in and kissing Taehyung’s forehead, each of his blushing cheeks, and finally his lips. “Thank you, Tae,” he says softly, giving him another gentle kiss before he straightens his clothes and kneels by the river to splash water on his face 

“We should probably get started on our actual task,” He teases, giving Taehyung a smirk. He nods sadly, kicking off his boots and socks and plopping down next to Jeongguk to roll his pants up to his calves. 

“I bet we have more fun ’filling the water trough’ than anyone else does,” he sing-songs, wiggling his eyebrows at Jeongguk and earning a chuckle in agreement. They work mostly in silence, filling their buckets before emptying them into the trough, but Jeongguk is the first to speak several minutes later. 

“So you and Jimin… really aren’t together or anything?” 

Taehyung snorts, but he smiles at how sincere Jeongguk sounds, like it’s a genuine concern of his. “No, not at all. He’s just my friend.” 

“Oh,” Jeongguk murmurs, refusing to meet Taehyung’s eyes, “He just acts differently around you, he’s rude and rough with almost everyone else but you two seem to get along well.” 

Taehyung ponders this. “He told me a secret a little while ago, he must trust me for some reason. Maybe he just needed a friend, I know I did.” Taehyung’s voice is soft now, that insecurity trying to creep its way back into his chest. 

Jeongguk is quiet for a moment, his eyebrows slipping down in thought. “Am I your friend?” His voice is small, doubtful, like he’s afraid to hear the answer. 

Taehyung tilts his head to one side, surprised by the question. “You can be if you want, but I like you in a different way than I like Jimin. I would say that you’re more than a friend.” Jeongguk finally raises his eyes at that, and they’re big and round and sparkling in that way Taehyung is growing to adore. 

“More than a friend,” he repeats to himself, biting back a smile. Taehyung is yet again startled by how intense Jeongguk can be in one moment, and then soft and boyish in the next. It can’t be good for his heart to be jerked back and forth like that, but he finds that maybe he doesn’t mind too much. 

  
  


Correction: He doesn’t mind too much when he’s with Jeongguk. When he’s alone, like now, he minds it very much. As has become somewhat routine for him, he’s laying on his back in his tent, unable to quiet his mind enough to let him sleep. It’s cold tonight, and he suspects the first frost will be soon, so he’s wrapped in several blankets like the vegetable rolls he used to help his mother make. They do nothing to keep the cold feeling aching in his chest at bay, and no matter how tightly he swaddles himself, he still shivers. 

It’s becoming familiar by now, but no less aggressive in its attacks. The fear whispers in his head that the people he’s growing to love would shun him if they knew what he really is, and a festering, constant dread that he’ll be caught sits in his gut like a stone. Just one mistake, a moment of carelessness when coloring his hair, and he could be beheaded for treason and his family shamed forever. One single mistake, and Jeongguk would turn his back on him and pretend that he had never looked at him with eyes full of adoration. It’s that thought in particular that makes a tear slip down the side of his cheek, but he can’t bring himself to reach up and wipe it off. It tickles, and he’s nearly resorted to trying to blow it away with air when a tiny, warm hand presses to his skin and brushes the wetness away. 

“Hoseok?” Taehyung whispers, startled because the usual crack that signaled the spirit’s arrival hadn’t sounded. Indeed, Hoseok’s glowing face leans over and peers upside down at him, his eyes big and dancing with mischief. 

“Yes, Taehyung-ah, I have arrived. I apologize for my absence, but no time recently has seemed like a good time to interrupt.” 

“That’s never stopped you before,” Taehyung mutters, making the spirit chuckle. 

“What I mean, dear boy, is that I felt disrupting your recent activities would be most distasteful. I doubt you would enjoy my presence when you’re around a certain Colonel Jeon Jeongguk.” 

Taehyung chokes on a breath and feels his face heat up, unpleasant images firing at rapid pace in his mind. Hoseok looks at him with surprise and pats his cheek, as if that’s supposed to comfort him at all. 

“Am I mistaken?” He asks genuinely, “Would you rather I pop up when you’re—”

“No, no, you are absolutely not mistaken,” Taehyung wheezes before he can finish that sentence, “How do you even know about that?” Hoseok tilts his head like he doesn’t understand the question, and a terrible thought forms in Taehyung’s mind. “Can you… can you see us?” His voice is horrified, and he’s grateful when Hoseok pulls back with a similarly disgusted expression. 

“No, thank the gods. I just assume these things are happening when I know your feelings for each other, and with how lovely and strong you’re becoming, I would not blame him for… taking notice.” 

Taehyung blushes and burrows down deeper into his cocoon of blankets to keep Hoseok from seeing it. He would rather not think about how good Jeongguk makes him feel when his mind is already buzzing with other, far more hurtful thoughts about the same man. 

“Taehyung-ah, what are you thinking?” Hoseok asks gently, watching the furrow deepening between the boy’s eyebrows. 

Taehyung is quiet for a moment, trying to think how he can verbalize exactly what’s wrong when it’s hard for him to even articulate on his own. It’s growing to more than a simple insecurity about his appearance. The thought of Jeongguk finding out and rejecting him cuts far deeper and more painful than that, and he has to swallow twice before he tries to say anything. 

“I’m scared,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to say it any louder. 

“Scared of what?” Hoseok prompts, but the way he says it makes it sound like he already knows the answer. His amber eyes are kind, almost pitying, and Taehyung shrinks even more into himself. 

“I’m scared that I’m going to be exposed somehow,” he mumbles, and when he looks up he can see that Hoseok is unconvinced. 

“Is that all?” He tilts his head further to coax him to continue, and Taehyung sighs. 

“And that my friends will decide they hate me, either because I’ve lied to them or because they'll think I’m cursed,” Hoseok smiles sadly, but he still doesn’t nod or lean back or do anything to indicate that he’s satisfied. Taehyung knows what he’s waiting for him to say, but the answer seems to be caught on his tongue, unwilling to spill out. He squeezes his eyes shut, hating that there are tears pricking at the corners, dropping his voice to barely audible when he says, 

“I’m scared of losing Jeongguk.” 

Hoseok nods and sits down next to Taehyung’s head, hanging his head and sighing. “I know,” he says, reaching out a little hand and patting Taehyung’s head with it, since that’s pretty much all of him that’s peeking out from the blankets. 

Taehyung feels a strange shameful anger tug in his chest, tasting ugly like bile. “You knew?” He glares at Hoseok and blinks around his tears. “Then why did you make me say it?” 

Hoseok laughs dejectedly, looking softly into Taehyung’s eyes. “Because you needed to hear yourself admit it for things to progress, Tae.” He taps the center of his forehead fondly, and Taehyung would push his hand away if his arms weren’t so inaccessible. His cheeks burn and he feels almost tricked, like he just admitted something he didn’t want to. Hoseok just said he needed to, but something in him feels horribly raw, like an exposed nerve. He’s scared of losing Jeongguk?

He knows deep down that he is, that the true fear eating away at his insides is Jeongguk never again looking at him the way he’s grown so used to, instead shutting those veils over his eyes and returning to every bit of the Colonel Jeon that he was before, leaving Jeongguk, his Jeongguk, to be nothing but a memory. To never again feel his touch or kiss his lips or hear him say his name, having to live with the knowledge that he wasn't enough to shine through the shadow of some curse. 

Two more tears slip down then, hot and stinging in Taehyung’s eyes. 

“Things will be alright, Tae, they will work themselves out.” Hoseok says, but he doesn’t sound very convinced to Taehyung’s ears. The fact that he said that instead of giving him advice or teasing him is unsettling, and does nothing to ease the dread settling in Taehyung’s stomach.

Hoseok runs his fingers affectionately through his hair before he gives a small wave and pops away, leaving Taehyung alone in the dark and feeling colder than he has all night. He’s shivering, his teeth clacking, trying to figure out if the cold temperature is worse than how clammy his stomach feels. He wishes someone else was here for him to snuggle into so he wouldn’t feel so freezing. 

As if someone has heard his wish, fingers tap lightly at the entrance to his tent. The sound startles him, but he sits up as best he can in his bundle and whispers, 

“Yes?” 

The sight of Jeongguk’s face popping inside makes his heart leap and a smile spread across his face. Jeongguk carries a small lantern in his hand and the soft yellowish light illuminates his playful, grinning face in a way that feels unfair to Taehyung’s heart. 

“What are you doing here?” He hisses, trying to hide his smile behind his blankets. 

“I thought that you might be cold,” is all that Jeongguk says, still grinning broadly, not taking any further steps into the tent. A swirl of frigid air smacks against Taehyung’s face and he shudders. 

“Go away, I don’t even have enough blankets for myself, much less for you.” He doesn’t really want Jeongguk to leave, even though his stupid tongue insists on relaying the opposite. 

Jeongguk just snickers and brings his body more inside the canvas. “It’s a good thing I brought extra then,” he says with a smug expression as he shoves his other arm into the tent, several thick blankets slung haphazardly over it. Taehyung’s eyes widen at the boldness of what he’s implying. He knows that the safest move for his emotional wellbeing would be to ask the man to please leave, go sleep in his own tent, but he quickly squashes that logic when Jeongguk’s hopeful puppy eyes sparkle in the lantern light. There’s no way he can refuse a face like that. 

Instead of saying anything for fear that his excitement will show through and embarrass him, Taehyung silently rolls over in his blanket bun to make space, but he ends up unraveling himself from it. The air is biting and he gasps, but in a second Jeongguk is there throwing his new blankets on top of him. He blows out the lantern and blackness quickly edges into the space, but Taehyung feels Jeongguk slip down next to his body, under the new blankets, before a strong arm wraps around his middle and pulls his back flush to Jeongguk’s chest. He gasps again, but this time it’s from warmth instead of cold, seeping into his skin as Jeongguk reaches over and tugs the rest of the blankets over them both. He leans down and kisses Taehyung’s shoulder before nuzzling into his hair and sighing contentedly. 

“This is probably better than my blanket cocoon anyway,” Taehyung comments to try to get rid of the silence, “I wiggle a lot when I sleep.” To prove it, he twists in Jeongguk’s arms until they’re facing each other and threads one of his legs through both of Jeongguk’s. He plants several light, feathery kisses on Jeongguk’s nose and then his lips, smiling at him even though it’s dark. 

“For good dreams,” he whispers, hearing the other’s breathing already evening out and tiny little snores dancing into the air. 

Taehyung starts matching his breathing with the slow, gentle puffs of Jeongguk’s, and it’s amazing how quickly he’s able to let his eyes flutter shut and his mind quiet. He smiles at how safe he feels under the weight of Jeongguk’s arms, focusing on the other man’s little breaths breaking on his lips instead of the tumultuous thoughts fluttering around his brain. He thinks he really doesn’t mind them as much when Jeongguk is here. 


	6. Pieces of Peace

Taehyung quietly swallows a spoonful of his soup, staring silently at the snow-dusted ground. He was right about the cold freezing the ground over last night, he awoke to crystalline coatings on all of the trees and blades of grass. They’ve been provided with proper winter clothing, and however itchy the thick woolen cloth may be on his skin, he’s grateful for its warmth.

He knows that a very grumpy Jimin’s eyes are on him, his stare burning into the side of his head, but he refuses to acknowledge him. He’s so visibly irritated that he has Seokjin’s attention trained on him, his eyes thin and calculating as he tries to silently decipher what the matter is. The three men are in somewhat of a triangle of stares, with Seokjin looking intently at Jimin, whose gaze is fixed on Taehyung, who is staring pointedly at the ground. Even after several minutes, someone has yet to say a word to break this odd tension between them. Taehyung continues sipping his soup until his bowl is empty, setting it down carefully in the grass where they’re sitting. 

“I saw him,” is what Jimin finally says, and Taehyung knows he’s speaking to him, even without his name being mentioned. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hyung,” Taehyung replies nonchalantly, picking at the dirt with a fingernail. 

Jimin snorts in disbelief. “I think you do, Taehyung, or do you have some other explanation for why I saw Colonel Jeon sneaking out of your tent early this morning?” 

Seokjin raises his eyebrows in surprise as Taehyung chokes, spluttering around nothing as he tries to form a response to that. “You must’ve been dreaming, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” His heartbeat is diligently speeding up in his chest, despite his attempts to calm it. Jeongguk slept in Taehyung’s tent, and Jimin saw. They’re both grown men, why does it matter if Jimin saw? 

“You’re a terrible liar, Tae,” Jimin scoffs as he flops onto his back and sighs heavily, flinging an arm over his eyes. 

Taehyung stares at his hands for a moment, trying to figure out something to say to rectify his embarrassment. “It’s not what you think, he just came to keep me warm.” That probably was no better, he realizes belatedly as Jimin sits up abruptly with his face twisted in surprise. 

“He came to keep you _warm?”_ He asks incredulously, eyes narrowed. Taehyung nods, trying to look as innocent as possible. Seokjin chuckles next to him, shaking his head back and forth in amusement. 

“Tae, that’s even more intimate than if you had just fucked in your tent, are you serious?” 

Taehyung winces, he’s still not used to how crass Jimin can be about these things sometimes. “I was cold,” he says with a shrug, “and maybe he was lonely. He slept, fell asleep, in my tent, that’s all.” 

Jimin huffs and crosses his arms, finally retreating his gaze to stare angrily at the ground. “I wish _I_ had someone to keep me warm in my tent,” he grumbles, his dark eyebrows sinking low over his eyes. The way he’s saying it sounds like he wants to say more, but Taehyung doesn’t know if he’s supposed to prompt for him to continue. Luckily, Seokjin seems to understand. 

“What do you mean?” 

Yes, that probably would’ve been an appropriate response, and it seems to be the one that Jimin was hoping for as he flops down onto his back dramatically and sighs. Taehyung has to stifle a giggle, he’s never seen such antics from the man before. 

“What I mean, hyung, is that Captain Min Yoongi is an ass of the highest degree and apparently love means nothing to him. Or I mean nothing to him. Or both.” He tosses an arm over his eyes and groans. “I have tried multiple times to get close to him, to speak with him alone, or at least get him to fucking notice me. It’s been weeks now since he’s arrived here, and his reappearance from the dead has yet to be resolved.” His voice drops to a more serious tone, a little bit quieter and more insecure than frustrated. “I never truly believed that he actually left me on purpose, it just never made sense, but do you…” He swallows, “Do you think it’s possible? That he really did abandon me, and that’s why he’s ignoring me?” 

Taehyung doesn’t know how to answer that, he knows nothing about the Captain besides what he’s heard from Jimin, and what he knows from his own personal experiences under his… difficult methods of training. He feels uncomfortable, like any answer he gives will not be helpful at all. He flicks his eyes to Seokjin, shrugging his shoulders helplessly, and his hyung rolls his eyes and clears his throat. 

“Jimin-ah, as I’ve said before, sometimes our instinct is to run from the things we want the most. He might have believed that _you_ were dead, and that now you’re only a figment of his imagination.” Jimin huffs just to show that he’s paying attention, his arm still thrown over his eyes. “He might not know how to talk to you when he’s the one that disappeared, whether there’s a good explanation or not.” Seokjin reaches out and clasps a hand around Jimin’s elbow, a gentle smile on his face. Watching him know exactly what to say and do, Taehyung thinks that Seokjin be an amazing father to his baby when he gets home. 

“Don’t give up, Jimin-ah. Time heals a lot of things, even those that time injured in the first place.” 

———

Taehung has a recurring problem. The problem is that every time he catches Jeongguk looking at him during training, he thinks about kissing him, and when he thinks about kissing him, he thinks about touching him, and then doing other things with him, and when he thinks about that, he ends up with a rather embarrassing tell. Whenever he’s alone in his tent at night, he finds himself becoming more exploratory with his own body, but instead of his desire being satiated, he only grows hungrier and hungrier for something more. Thoughts of Jeongguk’s weight on top of him and his strong arms circling Taehyung’s waist plague his mind, and it’s becoming an annoyance. He doesn’t suspect that Jeongguk is faring much better, considering that every chance he gets, he has his tongue slipping into Taehyung’s mouth and his hands wandering incessantly over his body like he’ll never be able to touch him again. Taehyung loves it and meets Jeongguk with just as much fervor, but it only serves to inflame the relentless coil of want burning in his gut. 

He’s returning from washing his clothes, bathing, and dyeing his hair, shivering horribly from the frigid water and hoping that his wet hair doesn’t freeze to his numbed skin. Soon they’ll have to resort to lugging troughs of water back to the camp to be heated by the fire before they can bathe, since in the last few days, each man that has been brave enough to try doing so in the creek has returned shortly after with blue-tinged fingers and chattering teeth. 

Taehyung steps into the clearing, taking a moment to admire the way that the camp is bathed in contrasting silver and gold hues, the full moon overhead casting down soft blue rays to dance with the orange flicker of the low-burning fire. He sucks in a breath when his eyes land on Jeongguk, sitting alone outside the entrance of his tent and looking up at the sky with his arms wrapped around his knees. His silhouette is outlined by the yellow glow of his lantern inside, the only one lit in the entire camp besides Taehyung’s own. It’s cold, Jeongguk should be sleeping under his warm pile of blankets instead of staring forlornly up at the sky in the middle of the night. Something pulls in his chest at the sight of him looking so lonely, and before he knows it, he’s hanging his wet, stiff clothes on the makeshift rack set near the fire for them to dry, and walking over to where Jeongguk is sitting. 

Jeongguk’s gaze lowers to him as he approaches, surprise in his expression as he straightens his back from the slumped over position it was in. 

“Why are you awake?” He asks, regarding Taehyung’s wet, shivering form. 

“I felt like a midnight swim,” Taehyung laughs, his teeth clacking together. Jeongguk looks at him worriedly and quickly gets to his feet, pulling Taehyung into his side and hurrying them over to the fire. 

“Perhaps midnight swims aren’t prudent anymore, it’s nearly winter,” he chides gently, letting go of Taehyung’s shoulders and bending over to toss more wood onto the glowing coals. Taehyung nods his head in agreement, plopping down as close to the flames as he dares and holding his hands out to thaw. He feels butterflies burst to life in his stomach at the concern in Jeongguk’s voice and the way he sits beside him, taking his face into his warm palms. A smile tugs his lips at the affection flooding Jeongguk’s eyes, warmth from within colliding with the reflection of the flames. It makes him blush against the rough skin of Jeongguk’s hands, earning him a tiny smile in return. It takes everything in him to not lean forward and place a kiss on the hints of two front teeth peeking out over Jeongguk’s bottom lip, so boyish and adorable that Taehyung‘s chest aches. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He whispers, loving the way the question makes a flush rise in Jeongguk’s cheeks to match his own. 

“Because,” Jeongguk whispers back, pressing his lips oh-so-gently to Taehyung’s, “You’re captivating.”

Taehyung stifles a squeal of delight and scrunches up his nose. “Stop, you’re making me blush,” he giggles, averting his eyes to the flames before he loses all restraint and tackles Jeongguk to kiss him silly.

“I know,” Jeongguk says with a smirk, and Taehyung wants to kiss him even _more._

He clears his throat and shifts so that he can lean his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder instead, sinking into his warmth as he scoots close to his side. He watches the gentle twirls of fire dancing above the coals, his heart aching the tiniest bit when he realizes how much he misses Hoseok. He’s been popping up less and less since they arrived here, Taehyung wonders why that is. Hoseok is a guardian after all, perhaps he’s done a lot of his work already and the rest is up to Taehyung, like he’s said before. 

“Are you warm now?” Comes Jeongguk’s soft voice, snapping Taehyung out of his thoughts. He nods his head against Jeongguk’s shoulder, the rough fabric of his thick tunic tickling his cheek. 

“Why were you out here alone?” He asks, voicing the question that’s been itching at the back of his mind since he first saw him. Jeongguk sighs heavily, almost with an air of defeat, and Taehyung sits back and turns to face him, worry etching in his brows. 

“Namjoon - Colonel Kim, he thinks that we have less time than we thought we did.”

Taehyung only recalls seeing the tall, broad man that came with Captain Min a few times since his arrival, but he remembers that he’s a strategist for their unit. He nods his head to show he’s listening, his heart sinking at how distressed Jeongguk sounds. 

“The Chinese are approaching faster than we had anticipated, and we’re the only defense this close to the Capitol.” He bites his lip, looking down at the ground. “This will be the first battle that I’ve led, and I’m terrified that we’re running out of time and won’t be ready.” 

Taehyung lifts a hand to Jeongguk’s back and rubs it reassuringly, unsure of what to say. 

“You know already how scared I am of failure, Tae,” he gulps, and Taehyung can see the vulnerability in his eyes. “What if we fail? What if we haven't had enough time and something bad happens, what if I…” He trails off, and Taehyung is surprised to see a sheen of tears forming in his dark eyes. “What if I lose you?” 

Taehyung’s throat pinches and he quickly leans in to wrap his arms around Jeongguk, who suddenly looks very small and so _afraid_. 

“You’re not going to lose me, Gukkie, I’m here to stay.” 

Jeongguk sobs softly at that, pressing his face into Taehyung’s chest and clutching at his shirt. Taehyung nuzzles his hair and his own vision blurs with tears. 

“You better not go and get yourself killed either, Jeon Jeongguk,” he murmurs, and Jeongguk nods silently. 

They sit there for a few moments, holding each other close and swaying back and forth slightly. Taehyung doesn’t know who leans in first, with Jeongguk’s face cradled in his hands as he looks down into his eyes and tries to display all of the feelings he has for him. It’s slow at first, their lips pressing together without hurry or intent, hands wandering slowly over each other’s arms and shoulders. Taehyung opens his mouth willingly when Jeongguk’s tongue prods for entrance, a contented sigh vibrating in his throat. He slides his hand up to Jeongguk’s hair and pulls gently on it, knowing that this tends to evoke a reaction from the other. As always, Jeongguk groans into his mouth and presses forward more urgently, his breath trembling over Taehyung’s lips. He’s still half-laying against Taehyung’s body with his head tilted up, and it isn’t long before he’s rubbing his palms down his sides and making goosebumps rise on his sensitive skin. It’s Taehyung’s turn to moan as Jeongguk settles a hand over his ass and massages his fingers into the soft flesh, sending tingling pulses up his spine stronger with every passing second. 

“Guk,” Taehyung murmurs in between kisses, deciding to test out the nickname as the desperate heat in his stomach grows too overwhelming to ignore any longer. “Will you show me more?” 

Jeongguk pulls back just enough to look into Taehyung’s eyes, a question shining in his own. “More?” He asks, hands moving to rest tentatively on Taehyung’s hips. 

Taehyung nods earnestly, cupping Jeongguk’s cheek with one hand. “I want more of you,” he whispers, “I want all of you.” He thinks that he’s never seen anything quite like the way that the other man’s eyes spark at those words. 

“Then I’ll give it to you,” Jeongguk growls, tugging Taehyung’s head down and kissing him with renewed fervor. Taehyung swings a leg over his lap and straddles him, the sudden pressure against his growing erection making them both suck in harsh breaths. 

“Wait,” Jeongguk says, pulling away slightly and making Taehyung tilt his head in confusion, “Not here.” He slides Taehyung off of his lap and stands just to bend down and sling Taehyung’s body over his shoulder, making Taehyung squeal his name and lock his arms upside down around his waist. Jeongguk strides easily to his tent, pulling the canvas flap back far enough that it doesn’t catch on Taehyung’s head. He slaps his ass lightly with a giggle before he drops him down to the bed that, thankfully, is much more plush than Taehyung’s. 

“When I said ‘show me more’, it wasn't an invitation to toss me around like a sack of rice and show off your big strong soldier muscles,” Taehyung pretends to fuss, but really, he quite enjoys those big strong soldier muscles. Jeongguk sees right through him, because he smirks and raises an eyebrow seductively as he slips in between Taehyung's legs to kiss him more. 

“I think you like them anyway,” he teases, not giving Taehyung any chance to respond before he’s diving right back into his mouth, this time with clear intent behind his movements. His hands are purposeful as they explore down Taehyung’s sides, under his shirt to his chest, his thighs, and everywhere in between. Taehyung shakes from anticipation and heightened sensitivity, every brush of Jeongguk’s fingertips like flames licking at the underside of his skin. Jeongguk pulls Taehyung’s tunic open to expose his bare torso to the light of the lantern hanging overhead, and he shudders as goosebumps rise on his stomach. Jeongguk wraps a hand around the back of his head and tilts it to the side so that he can begin to mouth at his throat and nibble at his ears, the strangely erotic tickle making Taehyung both giggle and writhe at the same time. 

“Jeongguk,” he breathes, massaging his fingers into the head of black hair nestling underneath his chin, and Jeongguk hums lazily against his collarbone in response. “I’ve never done this before.” An edge of insecurity, ever-present these days, makes its way into his voice, and he hates the way it makes him feel so small. Jeongguk pulls back again to stare into his eyes with a gentle warmth in his gaze that makes Taehyung’s heart skip a beat. 

“I know,” he says softly, thumbing at Taehyung’s jawline, “That’s why I’m going to take care of you.” Taehyung's breath hitches at that, his abs tensing, and he bites his lip as he tries to calm his trembling down. Jeongguk kisses a trail down his stomach, his hands moving over the rest of his body the entire time. His touch is grounding to Taehyung as he breathes in and out slowly, trying to shift his focus from nervousness to the comforting way Jeongguk’s fingers feel pressing into his skin. 

“Relax, love,” Jeongguk murmurs against his belly button, “I’ve got you.” The words are so simple, yet something about them succeeds in calming Taehyung’s heart rate just the slightest bit. He’s in safe hands, ones that touch him like he’s something precious that should be handled with care. That would usually make him feel belittled, but when they’re Jeongguk’s hands, he feels adored and _loved._

Unexpected tears smart in his eyes and he flicks his gaze up to the ceiling, hoping that Jeongguk is too preoccupied with removing his pants to notice. He isn’t sure how he would explain to Jeongguk that he is the first person he’s ever met that touches him like he’s someone to be cherished instead of recoiling in disgust, he doesn’t want to mar the memory of their first time together. Luckily, Jeongguk is more concerned with planting hot, open-mouthed kisses over his bare inner thighs and hipbones, and Taehyung quickly snaps back to what’s happening right before his eyes. 

“Beautiful,” Jeongguk whispers in between kisses, and Taehyung wills himself not to tear up again. Just to be safe, he wipes his eyes quickly with his sleeve when Jeongguk turns away to rummage through his belongings, pulling out a small, darkly colored glass bottle after a moment. Taehyung starts to quiver again, but he fists his hands in the blankets beneath him to try to quell his nerves. Jeongguk settles on his knees in between Taehyung’s legs again, running his palms soothingly up and down his legs. After a moment of just massaging at the tense muscles of his thighs, he pushes them apart and back, exposing Taehyung more than he has been for anyone before. Taehyung pinches his eyes shut and holds his breath, his heartbeat spiking again as he feels Jeongguk stare at him. 

“Breathe for me, Tae, I won’t hurt you,” he says in a low voice, uncorking the bottle and pouring what looks like oil over his fingers. Taehyung nods and tries to do so, consciously focusing on relaxing every tightened spot in his body that he can. Jeongguk kisses over his inner thighs as he teases his oiled fingers over his balls and the sensitive skin beneath, making Taehyung suck in a sharp breath and tighten his grip on the blankets. 

“Do you trust me?” Jeongguk asks, pausing his movements to look up at Taehyung. He takes a moment to savor the beauty of those eyes, holding endless constellations waiting to be discovered, before he smiles softly and nods. Jeongguk pushes against his rim then, a tiny bit of resistance pushing back before his finger slides in. Taehyung exhales through his teeth, trying to relax. It’s odd and unfamiliar, but nowhere near painful, and he feels some of his nerves dissipate as he adjusts to the feeling. Jeongguk watches him the entire time as he gently works him open with one, two, three fingers, the strange sensation of being touched in new places quickly melting into searing pleasure. Taehyung squirms on the bed and bites into his cheek to keep himself quiet, but it’s hard when Jeongguk seems to know everything that makes him feel good, _so_ good that he has a hard time keeping his eyes from crossing. He knows that if he’s reckless with his moans, it’s almost certain that someone else will hear them— and that makes his gut twinge even harder with excitement.

“Are you ready?” Jeongguk asks, looking as desperate to continue as Taehyung feels. He’s still fully clothed, with his cheeks darkly flushed and his eyes growing clouded with desire, his half-lidded gaze making Taehyung want him even more. He nods his head quickly and sits up, reaching for Jeongguk’s tunic to tug it off. 

“Yes, I want you,” he mutters, placing a quick kiss to the center of Jeongguk’s stomach as he pulls his pants down to reveal his erection, hard and leaking against his thigh. “I want you now.”

Jeongguk wastes no time, pushing Taehyung back down to the bed and pouring a bit more of the oil over himself before aligning their bodies, placing a soft kiss to Taehyung’s lips before he moves forward. 

“Oh _gods,”_ Taehyung whimpers as Jeongguk starts to push into him, burying his face in the crook of his neck and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Alright?” Jeongguk breathes, body trembling with barely held restraint. Taehyung nods, bracing one hand against Jeongguk’s chest. 

“Just give me a moment,” he whispers, focused again on relaxing. After a moment, when he feels sparks of pleasure flare up his spine instead of the light stinging he felt initially, he kisses Jeongguk and says, “Move.” 

Jeongguk exhales shakily and attaches their lips again as he pulls back and pushes forward, slowly, with more control than Taehyung would've thought him to be capable of. 

“You feel so good,” he gasps into his ear, wrapping an arm under Taehyung’s waist and lifting his hips more as he starts to roll his own deeper inside. Taehyung moans softly and arches his back in Jeongguk’s hold, hot pulses of pleasure wracking his body. 

“More,” he groans lowly into Jeongguk’s ear, tangling his fingers through his black hair. Jeongguk hisses and leans back so that he’s on his knees and cradles one of Taehyung’s calves in his large palm, hiking it up over his shoulder. The slight stretch in the back of his thigh only adds to the pleasure, and Taehyung bites back a whine with his teeth. Jeongguk starts to snap his hips in earnest, coaxing broken whimpers from Taehyung as he digs his nails into Jeongguk’s biceps. This feeling is a different kind of pleasure than what he’s previously ever known, deeper and hotter inside his body, pulsing continually stronger like an echo that draws nearer every time it sounds. 

Jeongguk holds him close, kissing over every expanse of skin that he can reach and breathing heavily in his ear, over his forehead, against his lips. Taehyung moans and feels webs of pleasure gripping through his veins, his head starting to feel light and floaty. 

“J-Jeongguk,” he gasps, “Please t-touch me.” His cock is lying neglected and aching against his stomach, begging for attention as Jeongguk grinds deep inside him. Jeongguk leans back to his knees and lifts up Taehyung’s hips further, and a sharp shock of pleasure tears through his body. 

“ _Ngh_ ,” Taehyung moans, his back arching farther off of the bed as his thighs start to quiver uncontrollably. Jeongguk slips a hand between their bodies and wraps a hand around his length, his eyes dark and gleaming, and it only takes a couple more thrusts for Taehyung to trip over the edge. He sucks in a ragged breath and clutches at Jeongguk’s shoulder, eyes rolling back and ropes of white shooting over them both. Jeongguk captures his lips in a kiss and moans into his mouth, his rhythm stuttering, and after just a few moments, he quickly pulls out and pumps himself between their stomachs, his orgasm joining Taehyung’s on their skin with a broken groan.

He gives Taehyung a lazy kiss and collapses on top of him with his head tucked beneath his chin, pressing another peck in the center of his sternum. His neck glistens with sweat in the dull glow of the lantern, and Taehyung lets his fingers wander over his scalp, pulling a contented sigh from him that vibrates against his body. Taehyung reaches over and grabs a stray shirt lying near his head and wipes the evidence of their activities from both of their stomachs, wrinkling his nose and throwing it somewhere in the direction of the exit of the tent so that one of them will remember to wash it. 

“I like listening to your heartbeat,” Jeongguk murmurs sleepily, his speech muddled by the way his cheek is squished against Taehyung’s chest, and Taehyung giggles softly, twisting his fingers playfully in the other man’s hair. It’s getting long and somewhat unruly, but Taehyung loves it. He nudges Jeongguk when he hears his breathing even out; as comfortable and intimate as their position is, Taehyung would prefer that they don’t fall asleep stark naked in the approaching winter. 

“Jeongguk, we should get under the blankets,” he urges, nudging him harder with his knee. 

“Mmph,” Jeongguk grunts petulantly, burying his face more into Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung sighs and kicks his leg over, rolling them both to the side so that he can yank the blankets over their bodies and pull Jeongguk close. He sighs in contentment, his heart fluttering with a different, new feeling when Jeongguk makes a little noise and burrows as far as he can into his arms and the blankets over their shoulders, the top of his head fitting under Taehyung’s chin.

“Goodnight, Guk,” he whispers into his hair, punctuating it with a kiss. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything in reply, but Taehyung could swear that he feels him smile silently against his skin. He figures that that’s good enough for now.

———

  
  


Taehyung thinks that he could really get used to waking up to find Jeongguk wrapped around him. When they fell asleep, he was tucked against his chest with Taehyung’s arms around him, but at some point they must’ve switched, because Taehyung awakens curled up on his side, with Jeongguk’s broader body spooning him protectively. The moment his mind comes to consciousness, he closes his eyes tight and tries to fall back asleep. He doesn’t think he has ever been so comfortable in his entire life, has ever felt so warm and safe in the frigid air of a winter morning. He smiles to himself and stays as still as possible, indulging himself in a moment to treasure the little puffs of breath he feels against the back of his neck. The lantern has long since burnt out, leaving only a soft dusting of gray light to illuminate the inside of the tent. 

When he thinks it’s high time that Jeongguk wakes up, he starts by running his fingers lightly along his arms and the back of his hands, hoping that the tickle will rouse him, but to no avail. The realization that he must be a heavy sleeper makes a smile pull at Taehyung’s lips. He huffs and squirms around until he’s facing Jeongguk and sticks the tip of his pinky finger into his nostril, giggling a little bit at how funny his face looks when he wiggles his nose around. Jeongguk sniffs, but he doesn’t seem any closer to being awake. Taehyung starts whispering his name and trailing his fingers all over his neck, which he _knows_ is sensitive, but with no more success than before. Frustrated, he resorts to kissing him and sliding his hands down his naked torso. Taehyung’s amused that this seems to be effective, because only a moment later, Jeongguk’s hand comes up to slip into the hair at the side of his head. He kisses back, albeit sleepily, and groans with a raspy morning voice into his mouth. 

“Good morning to you,” he says with a tender smile, and Taehyung feels goosebumps rise on his arms from how deep and hoarse his voice is. He likes it perhaps a bit too much, if how hard his gut twinges at the thought of having morning sex with Jeongguk is any indication. They can’t, not when the sun is already well on its way to rising and the lethargic movement around the camp will soon begin, but he really wishes that they could. 

“How should I leave?” He says softly, not wanting to bring up the subject, but their time is limited and he knows it would be bad for both of them if someone like Hanjin were to catch on to their escapade. Jeongguk pouts and Taehyung’s heart clenches in his chest. It’s an unfair tactic for Jeongguk to pull his pout on him. 

“I don’t want you to,” he says, making his eyes as big and imploring as he can. 

“You know I should leave before everyone wakes up, love,” he murmurs, testing out the name that Jeongguk had used on him the night before. It tastes sweet like honey, and even sweeter is the little giddy smile Jeongguk gives him when he says it, his front teeth poking out in that way that makes Taehyung feel like he needs to scream in endearment.

“Don’t go,” Jeongguk whispers, dipping his head to snuggle into Taehyung’s arms, making it exceedingly more difficult to separate and be responsible. Taehyung sighs and pecks Jeongguk’s forehead, forcing himself to peel back the blankets and expose himself to the chilly air. He shivers and gets into his clothes as fast as he can, looking forlornly at where Jeongguk is still cuddled up in a cocoon of warm blankets. 

“You should wash that,” he says as he makes his way to the door of the tent, wrinkling his nose and pointing at the shirt he had grabbed last night. Jeongguk peeks out from underneath the mountain of blankets and his eyebrows furrow, and Taehyung would guess that he’s making a face of disgust, but all he can see is his eyes and a mop of messy black hair splaying in all directions from his head. He chuckles and shakes his head in fond amusement as he steps toward the door. 

“Wait, Tae,” Jeongguk says, and his head pokes out a little farther above the blankets. He looks down and chews his lip, suddenly looking nervous. Taehyung cocks his head and prompts him to finish with a hum, but Jeongguk seems to reconsider whatever he was going to say. 

“Nothing,” he murmurs, sinking back down out of sight, “Be careful.” 

Taehyung is highly suspicious that that isn’t all Jeongguk had to say, but he doesn’t push, just giving a little smile and stepping out into the gray, misty light of the morning. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be anyone moving around yet, so he’s able to safely tiptoe across the grass and slip into his own tent, which, despite its far smaller size, is cold and feels too big without Jeongguk in it. A word tugs at the back of Taehyung’s mind, not for the first time, but he dares not entertain it. It seems to grow more insistent by the day, but it would be far too dangerous to let it develop into a full-fledged emotional let it slip off of his tongue, so he shakes it off and tries to busy his mind with other things. 

After breakfast, it doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to find him standing at the edge of the clearing, and he saunters nearer with a sly smile on his lips, his eyes dark and mischievous. Taehyung can’t help but grin as he approaches, and if a couple of men weren’t so near, he would grab him by the jaw and kiss him. Much to his disappointment, he has to settle for keeping his hands to himself and giving a polite nod of his head. Jeongguk returns the gesture, gaze darting around before he leans in and pecks Taehyung’s ear. 

“Jeongguk!” Taehyung whisper shouts, slapping his shoulder half heartedly. Jeongguk grins at him, and Taehyung glares at him to try to discourage that spark in his eyes. “There are _people_ around, do you want to get caught?” 

Jeongguk leans in again, nothing seeming to deter him from being so reckless in broad daylight. “I kind of like the sound of that,” he purrs against Taehyung’s ear, and twin bolts of excitement and apprehension shoot through his gut. He closes his eyes and sighs, pressing his fingertips into Jeongguk’s chest and pushing him away gently. 

“As much as I do too, what I don’t like is the thought of Hanjin or one of the other officers hearing about us and it getting back to your father, and then everyone else finding out, and then I- ”

Jeongguk presses a finger to Taehyung’s lips and shushes him, nodding his head in understanding. “Alright, alright,” he mutters, that devious look still on his face, “But I want to, uh, see you later. By the creek, I’ll find a way for us to escape.” He flashes a toothy smile and dashes away, leaving Taehyung winded and trying to rein in his thoughts. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that odd exchange anyway, as Jeongguk yells for everyone to gather in the field. They’re honing their mounted archery skills today, something that Taehyung already feels comfortable with, but he always appreciates extra practice. The fact that, very soon now, they’ll be fighting for their lives and nation in actual battles with the very real danger of being injured or killed still hasn’t settled in fully. An ever growing sense of dread twists in his stomach, and he thinks about his parents. Are they alright? Will he see them again? When he deliberately disobeyed them and left in secret, will they even _want_ to see him again should he survive? 

He shakes his head and tries to rid it of those thoughts, instead focusing on the task at hand. If he wants a chance at surviving to see his family again, he can’t let his mind be distracted by fear of the future during training.

He tries his best to focus on the task at hand, but it’s very difficult when he can feel Jeongguk’s eyes burning into him with even more intensity than usual as he practices. Captain Min yells at those who don’t meet his standard until they do, and Jeongguk meanders around on his horse giving tidbits of advice to random men, but Taehyung feels his gaze on him the entire time. He attempts to act coy, grinning bashfully whenever his eyes meet those glittering black ones and intentionally ignoring them the rest of the time. All he actually does is fluster himself, rather than rile up Jeongguk the way that he wants to. It’s a new, exciting feeling, to feel so _wanted_ that he can playfully tease the other man this way without shame. 

“The creek, during supper,” Jeongguk hisses later into Taehyung’s ear, making him shiver. He brushes his fingers along the side of Taehyung’s thigh as he says it, and that's enough to tell him exactly what he means by those words. The thought of Jeongguk pushing him up against a tree and mouthing down his neck, rolling his hips against him, _in_ him —

He stops himself before his mind runs too wild, and he can tell that Jeongguk knows the effect he’s having by the cocky grin tugging at one side of his mouth. Taehyung scoffs and pushes at Jeongguk’s chest, choosing to ignore the fact that an intense blush is clearly flaming in his cheeks. He saunters away, and if Taehyung weren’t so attracted to the way he moves when he’s feeling confident, he would kick him in indignance. 

The day seems to drag on, every skill he works on feeling like it takes ten times longer than usual. His simmering arousal and anticipation mixes with the constant dread he has inside, an odd combination of fear and excitement making it difficult to focus. Jimin notices and takes it upon himself to tease him incessantly, pestering him with questions while they’re wrestling in the field. 

“What’s got your mind so far away, Tae-ah?” He wheedles, digging his elbow into the underside of Taehyung’s jaw and easily twisting him to the ground. 

“Nothing,” Taehyung grits out, landing a palm strike to Jimin’s chest and shoving him to his side. He scrambles to his feet and holds up his hands near his face, keeping his knees bent as Jimin coughs and pushes himself up. They shuffle in a circle for a moment, a mischievous grin lighting up Jimin’s face. 

“I don’t believe you,” he counters, reaching out and slapping Taehyung’s hand just to mess with him. 

“I said it was nothing,” Taehyung growls, sweeping his foot at Jimin’s legs and barely missing when he leaps back. Jimin cackles and steps to Taehyung’s side, planting a foot behind his calf and shoving him so that he’s bent in half. Taehyung gasps when Jimin grabs his hand and wrenches it behind his back, a sharp pain shooting up his arm and lodging in his shoulder. He taps frantically on his upper arm and Jimin releases him. 

“Nothing? You’re distracted, Tae. Your head isn’t in the game.” Jimin’s face turns more serious, looking like he might start scolding Taehyung while he shakes out his arm. But Jimin doesn’t say anything more before he spins around and his leg extends in a fast hook kick. Taehyung ducks in time for it to miss his head, but as soon as Jimin’s foot touches the ground it darts back up and smacks into his side. He grunts and doubles over, knowing he’s lost. Jimin sighs and stands back with his hands on his hips, the mischief replaced by concern. 

“We don’t have time for distraction, Tae, you know that. You’re better than this.” Jimin has this way of saying what he’s thinking without it sounding mean, only honest, his voice earnest and soft. Taehyung hangs his head and sighs, running a hand roughly through his sweaty hair. 

“I know, I know. I can’t get my mind in the right place, I guess.” Jimin nods his head in understanding, but he’s frowning, his eyebrows furrowed as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“The Chinese won’t care if your mind is in the right place or not. Figure out how to work past it.” 

Taehyung nods and raises his fists again, trying to focus on his breathing and the way that Jimin moves, how his weight shifts from foot to foot as he gets into a fighting stance. Taehyung attacks this time, snapping a roundhouse kick into Jimin’s ribs and tackling him to the ground when he stumbles to the side. They grapple for several minutes, grunting and trading victory until they're both too worn out to continue. 

“Truce,” Jimin gasps, letting Taehyung knee him off of his stomach where he was perched just a second ago, fists raining down to test Taehyung’s blocks. They lay on their backs in the trampled, dry grass catching their breath, and Taehyung can already sense that their conversation isn’t over. 

“It’s Jeongguk,” he mumbles, almost hoping that Jimin didn’t hear him. 

“I know,” he replies, eyes still trained on the sky. 

Taehyung sighs again and folds his hands over his stomach, pondering what exactly he’s supposed to expand on. There’s so much to be said about Jeongguk, about his eyes and his voice, the way that he alone is capable of twisting Taehyung’s stomach into knots of both exhilaration and trepidation. He inspires feelings in Taehyung that he has never known before, every emotion that stirs in his gut intensified and searing. Taehyung can’t ignore the terrifying, beautiful word building itself a home in the back of his throat. He’s too scared to say it, too weak to swallow it back down. 

“I…” he whispers, his throat suddenly feeling too dry, “I feel a lot of things. For him.” 

He refuses to turn his head, but he can feel Jimin’s knowing stare burning into his temple. 

“What kind of things?” He prompts, and Taehyung should’ve known he wouldn’t accept such a vague answer. 

“Things I don’t want to talk about anymore, hyung,” Taehyung says with finality, sitting up and getting to his feet. To his surprise, Jimin doesn’t ask anything more, instead just nodding and holding out a hand for Taehyung to pull him up. They dust themselves and each other off just as the gong rings for supper. Taehyung’s heart skips a beat and he gets another pang of anticipation in his stomach. It’s time for him to meet Jeongguk. 

“I’m actually going to rest, hyung,” he says, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. Jimin looks at him with surprise, lips puffing out like he doesn’t quite believe him. 

“Rest?”

Taehyung nods emphatically, making a show of stretching and yawning. “I’m really tired, I’d rather lay down than eat.” 

Jimin looks at him skeptically for a moment, but he eventually nods and starts off towards the firepit. “Rest well then,” he calls over his shoulder as he goes. 

Taehyung watches him for a moment before he turns and makes his way toward the forest. He jogs through the trees until he comes to the creek, his heart thumping hard in his chest even after he sits down for several minutes. It doesn’t quiet, instead becoming even louder as time drags on and Jeongguk is nowhere to be seen. Taehyung wraps his arms around his knees and rocks back and forth, trying not to let himself get too nervous about why Jeongguk is so late. It is supper time, right? Yes, he’s heard the gong and it’s around the time they usually eat judging by the long shadows the setting sun casts over the ground. He hadn’t imagined Jeongguk’s words, can still feel them tickling his ear if he focuses hard enough. 

It’s growing dark and he’s shivering in the cold, the whistle of the wind in the leaves sounding too loud above his head. He has to head back to camp, Jimin or Seokjin will be looking for him soon. With a sigh and heavy disappointment settling like stones in his stomach, Taehyung gets to his feet and tries to hold back the tears stinging his eyes as he hugs himself and starts to shuffle back through the trees. It’s eerily quiet, all the forest life in hibernation, and Taehyung feels the winter settle over him like a sheet of ice. 

Why didn’t he come? He tries to shake off the smothering doubt sinking into his bones, telling himself that it isn’t anything to be upset over. Perhaps something happened or required his attention, he is the commanding officer after all. Taehyung hopes there isn’t any reason he would intentionally avoid coming, digging his fingers into the thick fabric of his tunic as he walks, trying not to get ahead of himself. Jeongguk surely has an explanation. 

When he comes into the clearing, he’s surprised to see all three officers sitting around the large fire, somber expressions on their faces. Colonel Kim is talking, his eyebrows furrowed and hands folded where they rest on his knees. Taehyung can’t hear what he’s saying, but it can’t be good based on how deep Jeongguk’s frown is. He’s staring into the flames, the light reflecting in his eyes and dancing over his skin. Taehyung bites the inside of his lip at how, even when he’s upset, Jeongguk manages to look stunning enough to make his heart skip a beat. 

He slinks around the edge of the forest hoping to reach his tent without being seen, but his effort is in vain. Jeongguk’s gaze flicks to him and he lifts his head from where it was resting against his knuckles, his eyes widening and his jaw going slack like he wants to say something. Taehyung looks at him for a moment, his chest growing warm when he sees the apology apparent on Jeongguk’s face, his expression open and so gentle that Taehyung wants to run to him and cradle his head in his arms. He can’t, so he turns on his heel and continues to his tent, the familiar sense that Jeongguk is still watching him tingling in his spine as he walks. 

He sits down on his blankets and looks around the small space for something to occupy his hands. It’s too early to go to sleep, but he doesn’t want to go bother Jimin or Seokjin for entertainment in his current mood. His eyes land on his father’s sword, leaning against one side of the tent. Its shine is dulled and flecked with mud, so Taehyung grabs a small rag he keeps in his pack and reaches for the sword. He sits cross-legged with it in his lap, thinking about his family as he spits on the rag and rubs it carefully over the blade. He misses them. He doesn’t always have time to remember how he came to be here in the first place, but sometimes he’s hit with an ache in his chest when he thinks about how they must be feeling. They might think he’s already dead, the Taehyung that they knew would’ve stood little chance of surviving in battle. The idea makes his chest twinge. 

When the sword is sufficiently polished, he sheaths it and sets it back in his place. It’s late enough to tuck himself into bed now, so he rubs a palm over his face and settles into his blankets, pulling them up close to his chin. For a multitude of reasons he can’t articulate, a single tear slips down one of his cheeks when he closes his eyes. 

He drifts off to sleep before he can hear Jeongguk whispering his name outside of his tent when the fire finally dies out. 

———

He wakes up to yelling. 

Jimin yanks open the entrance to his tent and hisses his name, tearing the blankets off of his body. 

“Taehyung, get up right now!”

Taehyung groans and rolls over, hugging his knees to his chest at the sudden cold. Jimin steps forward and slaps him across the face. He yelps and sits up, a palm flying up to cradle his stinging cheek. 

“Wha-”

“They’re coming, the Chinese are coming,” Jimin says urgently, reaching out and tugging Taehyung to his feet before he can process the words. His brain comes fully awake then, his eyes shooting open and hands already searching for his armor. Jimin ducks out just as the gong resounds through the air, louder and more insistent than ever before. 

“Chinese! Enemies!” Someone cries, and Taehyung can hear the hurried clanking of armor and whinnies of horses around the camp. He gathers his few belongings as quickly as he can and shoves them into his pack, still tying the straps of his arm guards as he stumbles out of his tent. The darkness of night has barely begun to fade into gray, the black shapes of men rushing about barely visible in the early morning light. Taehyung runs to find Yongsa, his sword and bow slapping against his thighs with each stride. 

He slams into someone, and he only realizes that it’s Jeongguk when he feels warm hands pressing against his neck. 

“Tae,” Jeongguk whispers, tugging his head in and capturing his lips in a kiss, hard and desperate. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“I know,” Taehyung cuts him off, bringing up his own hand to touch Jeongguk’s cheek. “I know.” 

“I have to say something,” Jeongguk says, looking around nervously and breathing hard. 

“I love you,” Taehyung murmurs before he can stop himself, sealing the words against Jeongguk’s lips with one last kiss. He pulls away and breaks into a sprint, Jeongguk’s empty hands hanging in the air behind him. Anything that he says is whisked away by the wind before Taehyung can hear it.

In no time, all of the men are assembled in the center of the camp with their horses standing beside them, all of them fully dressed for battle for the first time. The officers stand at the front, determination written across each of their faces. Taehyung’s heart thuds ominously in his chest, and he fights to keep his breathing steady. 

“We fight today,” Jeongguk calls out, swinging onto his horse. His cloak sweeps behind him, the crimson fabric settling over his horse’s back in a long drape. He looks more serious than Taehyung has ever seen him, even more so than the first day he arrived. 

“You’ve all trained well, you’re ready for this. Uphold your honor and the sanctity of our nation.” He nudges his horse to walk in front of the men, the black steed tossing his head like he can sense the impending fight. “It’s been an honor to train you, and now I lead you as soldiers of the Emperor’s army.” He unsheathes his sword with a metallic ring and raises it above his head, and a loud cry tears loose from the men. Taehyung lifts his own sword and shouts with them before pulling himself onto Yongsa, kicking his heels into his sides and setting off in a gallop. 

The sun is peeking out over the mountains when Jeongguk’s horse skids to a stop, the rest following suit. They’re at the edge of a shallow canyon, the sides hardly steep enough to be considered as such. Snow drifts streak across the rocky slopes like white claw marks, the dim light accentuating the deep slashes of caves in the surrounding landscape. Straight ahead, on the other side of the ravine, is the most terrifying thing Taehyung has ever seen. 

A black amorphous mass of Chinese soldiers forms against the craggy backdrop of the mountains, seeming to come out of nowhere. The clanking of armor and weapons echoes from their ranks, blazing torches scattered about like fireflies. At the very back, crouched like a prowling tiger on a lone rock that juts out from the mountainside, is the biggest man Taehyung has ever seen. He remembers Captain Min speaking of him only a few nights ago when discussing strategy with the soldiers, saying he was the leader of the enemy army. He described General Zhuang as a monster of a man, his thirst for blood and victory insatiable. In his right hand is a massive sword, twice as long as Taehyung’s own, the blade misshapen and jagged like a bolt of lightning. His head is low between his broad shoulders, lolling to the side calculatingly. Something about the way he’s moving is inhuman, nearly animalistic, and it makes a chill settle deep in Taehyung’s bones. 

There’s a horrible, frozen second of silence before chaos breaks loose. Jeongguk raises his sword with a fierce cry and gallops down into the ravine, the rest of the soldiers following with a deafening yell. Taehyung finds himself in the midst of it when the two armies collide like two waves, instinctively slashing and striking at any enemy he can reach.

Sound blends together into an unrelenting din and everything in sight becomes a blur, the scarlet of capes and blood splashing across the snowy rocks. Flaming arrows from both sides rain down into the indistinguishable tangle of men, screams and the vicious howl of fire joining the clash of steel striking steel and reverberating through the canyon. Taehyung barely registers blades tearing into his left arm, the back of his shoulder, his thigh. Adrenaline courses through his veins and blocks out anything else other than his determination to make it out alive, the blood soaking his uniform the only sign that he’s been injured at all. 

He leans to the side when a broadsword swipes at his head, tumbling off of Yongsa and slamming his chin into his own chest when he hits the ground. A metallic bitterness fills his mouth, a splatter of red kissing the snow when he spits into it. He hauls himself to his feet and chops off an arm that thrusts a knife at him, stooping to capture the weapon in his free hand. He whips around, deflecting and attacking simultaneously until his bloody left arm becomes numb and too limp to hold the knife anymore. He trips over a fallen body and staggers, met with the black mouth of a cannon when he looks up. Without thinking, he yells and shoves against its side with all of his might, and the charge fires to the enemy side with an ear-splitting _boom._ The cannonball tears into the mountainside, and for a second it appears to be no other effect until there’s a horrible cracking sound adding to the cacophony, and the ground itself begins to tremble. The fighting dwindles for a moment when the mountain groans, horror in every man’s face as the earth shifts and begins to fall. There’s a thunderous roar as snow and rock and mud tumble down into the canyon, an unstoppable avalanche slamming into men from both sides with no care for who gets swept up in its rocky waves. Taehyung clambers up the other side as high as he can, surrounded by most of his army, far enough from the impact to escape its wrath. 

When the dust settles, more than half of the Chinese army is buried, silenced beneath the rubble. When Taehyung lifts his head from beneath his arm, a gaping hole has opened in the side of the mountain, the slopes now chiseled into stark cliff faces. There’s barely a moment of respite before the battle resumes, newfound rage in every enemy blow. Taehyung turns his head and sees General Zhuang himself with his sword raised, rushing directly at him with a look of complete hatred burning in his eyes. Taehyung scrambles for purchase on the slippery rocks, trying to find a secure foothold for the fight he knows he stands little chance of winning. Zhuang is mere meters away when a blur leaps from a rock above, slamming another sword upon his jagged one, driving the tip to the ground and knocking him sideways. It’s Jeongguk, his eyes blazing ferociously as he lands on his feet in front of the general. He has the advantage of higher ground, striking relentlessly with force that Zhuang can barely deflect from his position. Taehyung’s chest bursts with love and admiration as he lets himself slip down to the solid ground of the ravine, gripping his sword and breaking into a run to fight at Jeongguk’s side. 

He’s nearly there when he catches sight of Seokjin with a sword in each hand, assaulting a burly Chinese soldier and pushing him against the stark cliff left by the rockslide. He’s clearly winning, the enemy’s defense nearly broken, but there’s another soldier to his back, running towards him with his blade outstretched. There’s a split second where time stops and Taehyung looks between Jeongguk and Seokjin, conflict tearing through his gut. He thinks about the baby Seokjin has yet to meet, and before he can think it through any longer his feet are carrying him towards his friend as fast as they can go. He dives in front of the attacker just in time to knock his blade aside before it lands on Seokjin’s head, rolling beneath his strike. A throbbing ache explodes in the side of his head when it bounces against a rock, but he staggers to his feet and lifts his sword anyway. Disoriented, he hears the garbled noise of Seokjin screaming his name and instinctively blocks a strike that appears from nowhere, then another. He thrusts his sword in whatever direction is forward, his sight becoming so blurry he can’t distinguish between friend or foe anymore. The pulse in his head is blinding, like a white-hot spike behind his skull, and he can hardly open his eyes to get his bearings.

The world starts to spin and he’s suddenly aware of the sulphurous scent of smoke and blood in his nostrils, the ringing in his ears, the pounding of his pulse in his hands. He slashes blindly forward even when his vision darkens. He only realizes he’s fallen when pain shoots through his knees. The last thing he hears is his own heartbeat before everything fades to nothingness. 


	7. Crowns of White in thy Crimson Hands

Jeongguk spits blood into the dirt, chest heaving and hands trembling where they each clasp the hilt of a sword. His ears feel like they’re stuffed with cloth, numbed by the sudden silence where before there was only screaming and the unrelenting dissonance of battle. He stands there without moving until the last enemy soldier slinks away over the edge of the opposing cliff. His eyes are trained on the massive boulder in front of him, General Zhuang’s limp body trapped beneath with no visible escape. 

It’s over, they’ve won. He repeats it over and over to himself in an attempt to make it seem real, but it doesn’t. He can’t make himself believe that they’ve succeeded, that the inexperienced band of men he met all those months ago are now true warriors, victorious in this battle. They’ve _won._

The swords slip from his fingers and clatter to the ground, the tremors wracking his hands too powerful to hold them any longer. His knees threaten to give out, and he has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to keep from collapsing. The adrenaline fades and everything comes crashing down, flares of pain screaming in his side and the numbness in his ears giving way to a piercing ring. 

He knows he should tend to his soldiers, count the casualties and assist where he can like a leader should, but only one thought dominates all of the others. His eyes fly open as the exhausted thump of his heart kicks harshly against his sternum.

_Taehyung._

“Taehyung!” He cries before he even has a chance to look around. His voice echoes against the walls of the canyon, no response besides the groaning of soldiers and the clacking of pebbles as they roll down the cliff. He shouts his name again, whipping around with his eyes wide and panic bubbling up in his veins. The man is nowhere to be seen, even among the slumped bodies of the fallen. Jeongguk summons whatever energy he has left and breaks into a sprint, eyes searching desperately for any sign of Taehyung amongst the rubble. He sees Jimin kneeling with a lump of armor and red fabric in his arms, the body he cradles so bloodied that Jeongguk’s mind refuses to acknowledge that it could be _him_. His heart stops in his chest and he doesn’t dare to breathe as he skids to his knees in front of Jimin, hands trembling so violently that his arms tingle. 

“Taehyung,” he whispers, a horrid lump forming in his throat as he reaches out. 

Jimin looks at him with tears in his eyes, a deep gash cutting across his nose and cheek. Jeongguk’s own eyes prickle with tears as he brushes his fingers against Taehyung’s pale, gray face, dirty and streaked with dark blood. He chokes on a sob and hurriedly fumbles with the straps of Taehyung’s armor until he can tear the breastplate away. His tunic beneath is torn on the side and soaked with more blood, but Jeongguk doesn’t care as he leans down to press his ear to Taehyung’s chest. He holds his breath as he waits to hear it, that beat signaling that he’s still living. It takes too long, and it’s so faint it hardly cuts through the ringing still piercing Jeongguk’s ears, but it’s there. He waits for another, clutching at Taehyung’s shirt and sobbing out loud when a second beat comes several seconds later. 

“He’s alive,” he breathes with a gasp of relief, sitting up and taking the boy from Jimin’s arms. His body, usually so lively and full of energy, is limp and lifeless when Jeongguk pulls him close, crying into his hair and kissing his head, no matter how much blood clings to his lips. He struggles to his feet, Taehyung’s head lolling against his chest and his arm dangling limply over his shoulder. He needs to clean his wounds, rid him of the heavy armor that digs into his skin and squelches with blood. 

“Stay with me, Tae,” he whispers desperately against his ear, “Please.” 

There’s a quiet river running along one side of the ravine, and Jeongguk stumbles to its bank with Taehyung clasped in his aching arms. He gets to his knees in the gray sand and lowers Taehyung’s body as gently as he can into the shallow water. He can hardly bear to look at him, his beautiful face obscured by scrapes and ridges of drying blood. His expression is peaceful, serene, like he wants to comfort Jeongguk even in this moment. Jeongguk carefully peels back the rest of his armor until only his scarlet-stained tunic and pants remain. He bunches up his own cloak beneath Taehyung’s neck before he tears a strip of cloth from his tattered shirt and dips it into the water. A long, jagged wound runs along the side of his ribs, so Jeongguk dabs the wet cloth gently against the edges of the cut, wiping the blood away as best he can. He makes his way over Taehyung’s body, wringing out the dirty red water every few moments to soak the rag in the river. The tight knot of fear in his chest eases when much of the blood wipes away to reveal no apparent source, as if most of it was from other people and not Taehyung himself.

Jeongguk moves to kneel in the river, uncaring of how cold water seeps through his boots, and pulls Taehyung into his lap. His hair is sticky and clumped with blood from a gash behind his ear, so Jeongguk cradles the boy’s neck in his palm and tilts his head back into the water. Blood and dirt curl away in the current as he massages his fingers against Taehyung’s scalp, but something is wrong. The color doesn’t stop, even when the scabs are washed away to reveal raw flesh. The water washing away from Taehyung’s hair grows darker, blacker, inky swirls too opaque to be just dirt coiling in the stream. Jeongguk’s heartbeat migrates to his throat when a flash of silver catches his eye, and he breathes hard as he reaches with shaking fingers to roll a section of hair between his fingers. 

It’s white. 

He can’t believe what he’s seeing, his movements becoming more and more frantic as he rubs harder at Taehyung’s hair. He prays under his breath that he’s just seeing things, hallucinating in his exhaustion, but the patch of white strands only grows until Taehyung’s head is surrounded by a halo of pure silvery, silky hair, swaying gracefully in the current. 

Jeongguk stares at him for what feels like hours, confusion and a thousand colliding thoughts gripping at his senses. He’s never seen anything like this before. He’s heard of people like this, cursed children born without souls, omens of doom and bad luck for all who came near them. He remembers the stories his father told him as a child, tales of monstrous people with unusually colored hair bringing destruction wherever they went. He can’t breathe, he can’t see past the tears of disbelief blurring his vision. Taehyung, _his_ Taehyung, a cursed child, a demon?

It cannot be. 

He hears feet shuffling in the gravel behind him, a series of gasps and murmurs of shock rippling through the crowd gathering on the bank. No one says anything, but the tension in the air is so thick that Jeongguk could grasp it in his hands. He can’t tear his eyes away, there’s something hauntingly beautiful and horrible about seeing Taehyung like this, the glow of his pale skin and silver hair making Jeongguk’s heart stutter, even as it sinks into his stomach.

“Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk croaks, his throat feeling like it’s being clawed apart. Suddenly, he can’t bear to touch Taehyung, his skin seeming too hot beneath his fingers. His chest burns and his stomach twists like he might throw up, so he turns his head to the side and forces his eyes closed. Even when he does, the image of Taehyung is still seared into his eyelids. “Bandage his wounds and dress him.” Jimin comes to his side, his own face gray and eyes wide. He drops to his knees in the water and holds out his arms to take Taehyung into them. Jeongguk pushes to his feet, the frigid water that soaks his boots and trousers burning compared to the cold fist gripping at his heart. 

He doesn’t stay to watch, to see if Taehyung even wakes up. He grits his teeth to try to keep tears from falling as he squares his shoulders and trudges up the bank, refusing to meet any of the indiscreet stares the men are giving him. 

“Set up camp,” he calls out, his voice wavering more than he would like. When no one moves to follow his order, he turns around and regards their curious faces with a glare. “Did you not hear me?” He growls, balling his fists at his sides. A pang of remorse hits his gut, these men are exhausted from fighting with their lives for freedom and the liberty of their country. He can’t take back his words, so he just turns and makes his way across the canyon floor. Bodies, broken and mangled, litter the ground, but most of them are enemies. Many are buried beneath the rock, crushed in the avalanche that —

A knife of guilt tears through Jeongguk’s gut. It was Taehyung who caused the avalanche and gave them an advantage, Taehyung who contributed the most out of any man to their victory. Without him they might still be fighting, they might not have won. The far larger Chinese army could have cut the Korean ranks down until they were too few to stand their ground, powerless to stop the enemy from advancing on the nearby capitol city. Jeongguk even owes his own life to Taehyung; without the avalanche, the boulder currently pinning General Zhuang’s body to the ground might have stayed rooted on the cliff long enough for Jeongguk to be overpowered and killed. 

A hot tear races down Jeongguk’s cheek, and he swipes at it roughly in some attempt to remind himself that he still holds control. He’s the colonel, he’s _in control_. He repeats it like a mantra, but feels nothing like the leader he’s supposed to be when his heart is wilting in his chest.

He blocks out his tumultuous emotions, focusing on doing as a colonel should without the distraction of a lover, helping the injured men and directing the healthy in setting up a camp farther down the canyon. He doesn’t look back at the river until he hears that Taehyung is inside the medic’s tent, out of his sight. 

  
  


————

  
  


Taehyung must be dreaming. He _prays_ that he’s dreaming as he runs his hands through his grown-out fringe and looks up at it, and his stomach drops straight to his toes when all that he can see is the sickeningly familiar white of his natural hair. A knot lodges itself in his throat as he rips his fingers through the silvery strands as if that will make them go back to the inky black that they should be.

A horrid, writhing tangle of fear shoots through his gut when he realizes that he’s in the familiar setup of a canvas tent, but this one is much larger than his own and has several tiny mats laid out in rows along its length. He’s alone, with several heavy blankets layered over him, but he can hear the murmur of voices outside. He groans when he tries to sit up, flares of pain sparking all over his body, but he manages to slowly push up to a sitting position. He tries to breathe evenly and make sense of this situation, his memories blurry and hard to string together. He remembers fighting, the clang of weapons and cries of battle, and he remembers deflecting a strike from landing on Seokjin before his head exploded in agony and everything dissipated into darkness. He touches a hand to his side where the pain is most acute, and indeed, there’s a thick bandage stained with dots of blood wrapped tightly around his middle. Another hugs the flesh of his forearm and wrist where he remembers being slashed by a knife. When he brings his fingers to the back of his head, a raw bump stings behind his ear. 

The memories come flooding back in a whirl of sounds and images, and Taehyung groans again as his head throbs with blinding intensity. He twists his hands into the blankets laying over him and tries to come up with a reason for how he got here, and why his hair is back to its real color. The raging sounds of war he recalls are silenced outside, replaced with hushed murmuring accompanied by the sound of unhurried footsteps, so some time must have passed. The curling tendrils of panic slash at his ribs as reality fully settles in, and he has to choke back a sob by pressing a fist into his teeth. 

He’s been caught. 

His heart lodges in his throat as he hears the voices outside draw closer, and he flounders for what to do as their words become clearer. 

“... _you know the rules, Daeryeong-nim,”_ a pinched voice that Taehyung recognizes as Hanjin’s whines, “ _He cannot be left alive, regardless of his bravery.”_

Taehyung shudders and tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, when the face that he loves and fears the most appears at the opposite end of the long tent. 

The last time Taehyung saw his eyes, they were warm and full of devotion, an endless galaxy of stars made just for him to reach out and discover. Now, those eyes are unfeeling, hard, and refusing to meet his own. Jeongguk’s face is even, betraying no emotion as he steps into the space. He’s dressed in his armor, and everything about him seems to have returned to the Colonel Jeon that Taehyung first saw those many months ago, polished and impassive, everything that Taehyung has grown to cherish vanished as if his Jeongguk had never existed. 

He swallows again and tries to find his voice, tears already forming against his will. “Jeongguk, I-”

“You will not address me so informally.” His voice is as smooth and cold as steel, as unfeeling as a blade. Those words, a negation of some of the sweetest ones that Taehyung has ever heard, rip through him more jaggedly than any sword could. It’s as if the past months have been erased, like he and Jeongguk were never anything beyond strangers. He sucks in a wounded breath and bites hard into his tongue to keep himself from crying out. 

“D-Daeryeong-nim, please,” he whispers, bowing his head forward as far as he can and clasping his hands together imploringly. 

“You lied,” the icy voice says, “ _You_ are a lie.” 

Taehyung has to be dreaming, he has to be. This is his worst nightmare, all of his deepest fears crashing into truth at once, and he doesn’t know if he can bear it. His chin trembles as he tries to find the words to say, anything at all. 

“I’m not,” he hiccups, “Everything I have ever been to you is real.” 

Colonel Jeon’s face doesn’t even twitch, his eyes glassy and dazed as he stares at Taehyung without actually _seeing_ him.

“Tell me, Kim,”

Taehyung shivers at how disdainfully his name is said by those lips, at how he’s reduced again to his family title when Jeongguk had filled his own name with more adoration and tenderness than a single word should bear. 

“Was it your intention to destroy us?” Jeongguk’s voice drops to something hardly above a whisper, “To destroy me?” 

Taehyung has heard words like these before, they’re not new, but when he hears them coming from the very mouth he had kissed and adored, they dig under his skin and burn into his flesh like talons of heated iron. He can’t control the sob that rips from his throat, his hands trembling where they remain folded in a plea before him. He shakes his head back and forth vehemently, heart cracking at the horrible thought that he could ever desire anything like that. 

He has no chance to say anything more before two unfamiliar soldiers are marching in behind Colonel Jeon, their faces grim and hardened. They grab onto Taehyung’s shoulders and lift him to his feet, pain shooting through his side at the sudden movement. He whimpers as they drag him outside, the light of midmorning making him squint and the acrid scent of battle stinging his nostrils as soon as he inhales. They drop him to the ground in the center of a circle of men, many of them his own comrades. Taehyung can’t bring himself to look at their faces as he curls up on his knees, shivering in his thin clothing from the cold, his now white hair tickling the back of his neck where the wind flutters through it. 

“I knew it! I _knew_ there was something wrong with you,” he hears Hanjin squawking, his voice even more grating and harsh than it usually is. Taehyung can’t form any words to respond with, burying his face in his hands as he feels too many eyes staring at him, too many fingers pointing at him incredulously. “You are a treacherous _snake,_ a demon or spy or a…” 

Hanjin’s raving and the nervous murmuring from the crowd blend with the pounding of blood in Taehyung’s ears, becoming an indistinguishable roar that he can’t process.

Because worse than the noise, is the silence. 

Jeongguk stands before him, and when Taehyung is brave enough to raise his eyes a little higher, but not past Jeongguk’s shoulders, he can see that he’s standing straight and rigid with his arms crossed over his chest. Taehyung can’t see his face, but that’s probably better; he doesn’t know if he could stand to see his face hardened into that indifferent expression again. 

He’s silent. It’s bordering on even more painful than his previous scathing words, as Hanjin tears into Taehyung and he lays ashamed and exposed in front of the other men. Jeongguk is not defending him, he’s not attacking him, he’s just… silent. 

“I did it for my father, please believe me, I never meant for it to go this far,” Taehyung whispers under Hanjin’s ranting, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He wonders if anyone hears. He wishes someone would _listen_ for once. 

“...Behead him, Daeryeong-nim, it is the only way,” Hanjin’s voice filters into his ringing ears, the words hardly registering. He hears a few gasps and one astonished “no” among the men gathered around, but he still can’t lift his head to look at their faces. He’s unable to stop shaking, the pain stabbing into his side and the weight of shame and grief forcing him to press his face into the frozen ground, no matter how much it stings as the frost melts against his skin. It grounds him, the burning numbness spreading over his cheeks a bitter reminder that he isn’t dreaming. 

He hears a sob, then another, but they aren’t coming from him this time. He raises his eyes just enough to see Seokjin and Jimin standing together, their palms pressed over their mouths in an attempt to stay quiet. 

“Please, Daeryeong-nim,” Seokjin says softly, getting onto his knees and bowing his head, “Please spare him. His only fault was being reckless and saving my life so that…” He stops for a moment, chewing at his lip as a tear falls, “So that I can see my wife and meet my baby, he does not deserve death in return for that.” Despite the tears dripping from his face, Seokjin’s voice is even and measured, as always. 

Taehyung feels some semblance of hope kick in his ribs upon hearing the words, knowing that at least his friend does not appear to hate him, but it’s weak in comparison to the crushing despair tearing through his entire body. 

“Oh, Tae,” he hears Jimin whimper, his hands reaching out towards him, but he doesn’t try to step any closer as Colonel Jeon begins to circle Taehyung’s curled up form. The sound of frost crunching beneath the heavy boots punctuates every few rapid beats of his heart, thudding in his ears like a drum. He stops after a few terrible moments, his feet stilling near Taehyung's head. 

“High treason,” Hanjin calls out, this time so that every man can hear, “Is rightful cause for any man to be executed immediately, it is the ultimate dishonor to his family!” It’s almost like he’s just prolonging Taehyung’s shame at this point, his voice echoing what seems like far too many times in the canyon they’re in. 

“That is enough, Hanjin-ssi,” comes Jeongguk’s clipped voice, raised for the first time today as he takes another step towards Taehyung. He holds his breath at the proximity, not daring to move a muscle, but his heart fights desperately to escape his rib cage when he hears the distinctive sound of a sword being unsheathed. He starts quivering uncontrollably and his breathing turns hysterical as the boots move closer and closer until they’re right by his head, and he feels the cold, unforgiving edge of a blade digging into the back of his neck. He presses his palms into the ground on either side of his head and buries his fingernails into the dirt, the sting spreading like liquid fire as the blade breaks the first layer of his skin. 

He becomes strangely calm. He’s still trembling, but his breathing evens out and his mind quiets as even the pain dissipates, like he’s started to float and can’t feel his body anymore.

A single tear slips down his cheek and falls to the ground as he breathes, in and out, in and out, prepared for any one of them to become his last. He’s ready for blackness, or blood, or blinding pain, or light, or whatever awaits a cursed man in the afterlife. He’s ready. 

They never come.

The sword instead pulls away from his neck and falls to the frosty dirt at his side, singing when it hits the hard ground.

“Our victory for your life, the debt is repaid.” Jeongguk states before turning his back and walking away. 

“Daeryeong-nim,” Hanjin gasps, incredulous, and a collective murmur of surprise is heard from the men. Taehyung doesn’t dare to move, he hardly dares to _breathe._

“He can’t - Sir, you cannot just-”

Taehyung turns his head to see Jeongguk darting out an arm and grabbing Hanjin by the collar, lifting his weight off the ground easily as he drags his face to his. 

“Was I unclear?” His voice is low and dangerous, and Taehyung could almost feel pity for the shrimpy man were the circumstances different. Hanjin frantically wags his head back and forth, whining pitifully when Jeongguk lets him drop to the ground in a heap. 

“We’re leaving,” Jeongguk announces, his back still turned to Taehyung, “Leave him his horse and two days of provisions.” Taehyung’s blood chills at the unspoken: Jeongguk might have spared his life, but he’s not going with them. He’s going to be left behind. 

“Pack up quickly,” Jeongguk commands, and Taehyung’s vision swims with more tears. “We are due in the Capitol for a ceremony of victory and celebration before sunset tomorrow.”

The two brutes who dragged him out reappear to pull him to his feet, and he’s oddly grateful for their rough grip on his arms, for his legs are of no use to him and he feels dangerously close to passing out, the blood draining from his head and making his vision blur. The next several moments run together as people pass by him, and he vaguely registers Seokjin and Jimin weeping into the ground at his feet before being dragged away, unsure if that was real or just a figment of his imagination. The thing that is very real, cruelly so, is the way that he can’t catch Jeongguk’s gaze even once, the man keeping his back to Taehyung until he swings a leg over his horse. 

When he looks around in dismay, Taehyung sees that a small satchel has been thrown to the ground next to him along with a few blankets and his thickest uniform, and Yongsa is standing behind him with his neck craned protectively over his head. Everything that stood here for months is gone - the tent, the firepit, the stacks of weapons - all packed up somewhere with the men, who are seated on their horses. Only two are looking directly at him, their eyes bloodshot and trying to speak a thousand silent words, but they aren’t the eyes that Taehyung so desperately wants to see, just one last time. 

He doesn’t get his wish, as Jeongguk spurs his horse to a gallop and rides off, with the men following and only the distant thunder of hooves to be heard in their wake. 

  
  


———

  
  


Jeongguk’s mouth tastes like bile. Taehyung is staring at him, his eyes wide and terrified, and Jeongguk has to stand as if his very presence isn’t causing everything in his world to tip upside down. He feels betrayed, lied to, ridiculous. He had gone and done the unthinkable, falling in love with a soulless curse. Staring back at him, is the face of a young man with white hair, something that Jeongguk thought was only a legend. It becomes no less shocking the longer he looks at it, no less than the moment almost two days ago when the water he poured over an unconscious Taehyung’s head started to run black as it left him. What pains him most is that it's no less beautiful than when he had first seen it. His head throbs as he tries to separate this Taehyung from the one he thought he knew. 

“Jeongguk, I-”

“You will not address me so informally,” he interrupts, surprised at how cold his own voice sounds to his ears. Taehyung recoils and some tiny part of Jeongguk screams out for him to stop, but he stamps it out and clenches his jaw harder. 

“D-Daeryeong-nim, please,” Taehyung whispers, dipping his head and raising his hands up in a plea. Jeongguk wills himself not to tear up at how broken his title sounds coming from the boy’s lips, when for so long it’s been only a term of teasing endearment. 

“You lied,” Jeongguk forces out, “ _You_ are a lie.” It’s true. Everything he was growing to love, after so long of feeling alone and misunderstood, was something that was never there. Demons can’t love, is what he’s been told. The hurt that flares in Taehyung’s eyes is almost enough to make him question that. Almost. 

“I didn’t,” he whispers, “Everything I have ever been to you is real.” 

_How can you say that when I’ve told you my deepest fears of failure, yet you come here to orchestrate my demise?_ Jeongguk thinks in disbelief, but he forces his expression to remain the same. 

“Tell me, Kim,” He _hates_ the way that name tastes coming off of his tongue this way, “Was it your intention to destroy us?” He tries to stop himself, but he needs to know. “To destroy me?”

Taehyung sobs, a horrible sound that claws at Jeongguk’s heart, but he turns away and pinches his eyes shut in an attempt to block it out as two sentries from a different company brush by him to drag a weeping Taehyung out of the tent. Jeongguk knows he’s still injured, and he’s about to remind the brutish men to be gentle, but it’s too late. They haul Taehyung to the clearing outside of the tent and dump him unceremoniously to the ground, making Jeongguk wince, but he remains silent. Hanjin, who has hardly stopped talking since Taehyung’s hair was first seen, starts railing on him and screeching insults and demands and assumptions. Jeongguk feels frozen to the spot, unable to make himself do anything besides stare blankly at Taehyung’s shivering form where he’s huddled on the ground. Part of him longs to rush to Taehyung’s side and pull him into his arms and kiss his shining silvery head, shield him from the shocked stares of everyone else. The other, stronger part, the one that’s stinging with fresh confusion and betrayal, is the one that keeps him rooted to the ground, standing rigid with his mouth glued shut as he watches the boy cower under Hanjin’s verbal onslaught. 

Taehyung is muttering something dazedly, so softly that Jeongguk can’t understand it, but his heart feels like it’s cracking at how hoarse and lost his murmuring sounds. He’s losing his resolve, he knows it’s getting weaker by the second. If demons can’t love or feel, then why does Taehyung look so destroyed when his cover has already been lost? Is there a chance that, just maybe, his heart is cracking as painfully as Jeongguk’s is? 

He realizes that Hanjin has stopped talking, that all eyes are turned to him as if they’re waiting for something. He knows what Hanjin wants, he’s been incessantly suggesting it for hours now, and the very thought of it makes him feel like throwing up. He knows that he must, if it’s discovered that he’s fallen in love with the man lying before him, they’ll both be executed as conspirators against the Emperor. 

Kim Seokjin, who he knows to be one of Taehyung’s closest friends, steps forward and drops to his knees with his head bowed. “Please, Daeryeong-nim,” he says softly, “Please spare him. His only fault was being reckless and saving my life so that…” The man trails off, biting into his lip as a tear streams down his face, “So that I can see my wife and meet my baby, he does not deserve death in return for that.” A murmur of agreement can be heard among the men, and a part of Jeongguk flares in anger at them. They’ve never cared about Taehyung until now, when his value to them is only that he saved their lives. They haven’t any clue what’s really transpiring here, how conflicted and torn up Jeongguk feels inside between his love and his duty. Taehyung saved him, too, in more ways than one. Was that all a lie? Is it even possible for a spirit without a soul to do such a thing? It cannot be. 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, instead moving to circle around Taehyung’s shaking body, his boots crunching in the snow the only sound besides the crackling of the fire nearby. 

“High treason,” Hanjin answers for him, loud enough for all to hear, “Is rightful cause for any man to be executed immediately, it is the ultimate dishonor to his family!” 

Jeongguk’s jaw tightens and his heart starts to pound too loudly in his ears as he comes to a stop near Taehyung’s head. “That is enough, Hanjin-ssi,” he grits out, staring down at the tangled head of brilliant, silver hair that’s nearly blending in with the frosted ground. He reaches across his body for his sword, biting into his cheek as he listens to its metallic voice ring through the air, and carefully lowers the blade to the exposed flesh of Taehyung’s neck. He hears the boy’s breath catch and then speed up until it’s panicked and erratic, and the stinging of tears threatens to blur his vision as he presses down, feeling the moment that the blade breaks through the beautiful, soft skin he loves so much and has touched countless times before. 

All is silent for a couple of seconds, each of them loaded and horrible as Jeongguk tries to find it within himself to pull back and swing with all of his might. Memories flash through his mind of Taehyung laughing and splattering mud onto him, of his tan, smooth skin laid bare before him, of the awkward, gangly boy that showed up on the first day of training, now a man that somehow, even still, cradles Jeongguk’s heart in his hands. He’s never once dropped or mistreated it, never let it be injured in his care, Jeongguk thinks, never shown a single sign that he was the wrong one to hold it. 

The sword falls from his hand. 

“Our victory for your life,” he murmurs, “The debt is repaid.” He turns his back on Taehyung’s form and clenches his jaw for what he knows is coming. 

“Daeryeong-nim,” Hanjin interjects incredulously, a chorus of surprised gasps sounding through the crowd, “He can’t - Sir, you cannot just-”

Jeongguk shoots out an arm and twists his fingers into the collar of Hanjin’s tunic, the tiny man weighing nothing when he drags his toes over the ground to meet him face to face. 

“Was I unclear?” He asks, tone deep and a clear warning, and Hanjin shakes his head back and forth in a panic as his already pallid complexion drains even further. Jeongguk loosens his grip and lets the man fall to his feet like a bag of bones.

“We’re leaving,” he announces before he can do anything further to damage his already aching heart, and he swallows hard and bites into his lip before he continues. “Leave him his horse and two days of provisions.” He has to leave him behind, he knows that both of them will only suffer more if he doesn’t. The Capitol would not be kind to Taehyung, nor the man who fell in love with a curse.

“Pack up quickly,” he shouts, willing his voice not to crack, “We are due in the Capitol for a ceremony of victory and celebration before sunset tomorrow.” The men disperse, the two of them dearest to Taehyung falling and weeping at his feet before being dragged away. Jeongguk tries to tear his eyes from him, his face expressionless and pale as tears stream down his cheeks. He wants to cry out when the two large men who dragged him out earlier reappear at his sides and tug him roughly to his feet, only to drop him in a sitting position next to what must be Taehyung’s horse, tossing a sack of food, Taehyung’s winter uniform, and a few worn out blankets to the ground beside him. He’s shivering, his eyes glassy and spaced out, and Jeongguk’s heart gives another wounded kick because of _how much_ he wants to run to him and hold his body until he isn’t cold anymore. 

Taehyung lifts his head and looks around like he’s only just realizing what’s going on, and Jeongguk whirls around so that he can’t see the way that his face is twisting in pain at what he’s doing, what he’s feeling. He strides over to his horse and mounts him silently, and without another word, he urges him forward. 

He can feel those deep, tearful eyes watching him as he rides away, and it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses to not look back. 

  
  


Jeongguk’s thoughts do not quiet for the entire day. They only seem to grow louder and more discombobulated the more he tries to make sense of them. He’s sitting with his knees hugged to his chest by the fire, staring intently into the swirls of amber and orange that quickly dissipate into the night sky. He feels the burn of tears in his eyes, but he’s unwilling to let them fall. 

“Taehyung,” he whispers to himself, “My Taehyung.” He’s already feeling claws of guilt at leaving the boy behind, but he can’t swallow down his own distress at being so easily deceived to admit it. A tear falls then, and he roughly wipes it away with his fist before anyone can see. He knows he’s being watched, that the men— especially Hanjin— are staring at his back, waiting for him to say or display anything other than a face made of marble and a heart without feeling. None of them have dared to approach him yet, but he knows it’s only a matter of time. 

He stares absently into the fire, but he startles to attention when he swears that he hears it _speak._

“ _Jeongguk_ ,” it whispers, echoing and reverberating like it’s in a room made of stone. His eyes widen and he sits up straighter, suddenly alert. Jeongguk’s certain he’s never heard this voice before, he must be hallucinating in his state of despair. When he turns his head to see if anyone else is reacting to the voice, he sees nothing amiss. He’s definitely losing his mind, and over a boy, he thinks to himself bitterly. 

Whatever it is, it calls out his name again a little bit louder, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, prickles of goosebumps rising along his arms. 

“Yes?” He says quietly, before he can stop to think through the absurdity of responding to a voice from a fire _._

A small flame sparks and swirls gracefully around itself, catching his eye, but this one doesn’t dissolve into the chilly night air like the others do. He dares to say that this one looks brighter, almost more alive, than the others. 

“ _You’re wrong about him,_ ” the flame whispers, its voice spectral, as if it’s speaking directly into his brain instead of into the atmosphere. 

“What are you?” He breathes, unable to tear his eyes away from the flame. 

“ _Call me a guardian, that is all you need to know,”_ it replies, the disembodied nature of its voice making Jeongguk shudder. 

“What am I supposed to think?” He asks, and somehow, he can sense that this spirit knows exactly what he’s referring to. 

“C _ontrary to what you have been told, Kim Taehyung is not a demon,”_ the voice says patiently, and Jeongguk winces at the mention of his name. “ _Take a look at yourself, Jeongguk. Have you not said before that you are misunderstood? A persona that is not truly your own placed on your shoulders against your will?”_ Jeongguk nods in affirmation without thinking, another tear slipping down to his jaw. “ _Perhaps your circumstances are different to his, but consider the possibility that Taehyung, too, has had false prejudices thrust upon him for far longer than you have.”_ Jeongguk’s throat tightens, and he bites back a whimper at what he’s beginning to understand, at what he’s so desperate to believe. 

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” He questions tearfully, a heaviness settling in his chest that feels oddly like regret, fighting for dominance against the ugly pain of betrayal still residing there. Has Taehyung been carrying this alone all this time? Is it true, that he’s really just a boy with an oddity that he has no control of? 

“ _The same reason that most secrets are secrets at all, Jeongguk: fear. He was terrified that you wouldn’t understand, that you would turn your back on him and become just like all the others before you.”_ Jeongguk’s cheeks begin to burn hot with shame, he can predict what’s coming next. 

“ _He was right to be afraid, since all you have done is prove his worst nightmares to be true.”_

He sobs then, softly, no longer able to control the wave building up to a climax in his throat. It feels like he's choking, suffocating on misery and his own wretchedness, the words that he had spoken to Taehyung echoing louder and louder in his head until he wants to scream. 

“Please,” he begs, “what can I do?” 

The spirit is silent for a moment, and Jeongguk fears that it’s disappeared and has left him alone with his despair. 

“ _Wait for him to return.”_ It finally replies, and that’s the last thing that it says before the flame shrinks and extinguishes itself in the coals, gone as if it was never there, the flames returning to dancing as they usually do. 

Jeongguk swipes a hand over his face and digs his teeth into his lip to try to stop the tears, his jaw clenched so tightly it feels like it will crack under the force. 

“Daeryeong-nim, I ask again what you intend to do about Kim Taehyu-”

Jeongguk is on his feet before he knows it, and this time he goes for Hanjin’s throat instead of his collar. 

“I swear that I will rip out your tongue if you _dare_ to let his name touch it ever again,” he growls, uncaring of the way his chin trembles in fury. Hanjin gurgles pathetically as Jeongguk tightens his fist around his bony throat, his eyes wide and bulging. “It is not your responsibility to decide the value of a life, you despicable snake.” He spits, dropping a gasping, retching Hanjin to the ground and clenching his fist at his side. “Get out of my sight and do not let me hear your voice again, I never forget my promises.” 

Hanjin whimpers and wheezes, clutching at his throat and slinking away as Jeongguk stares him down. 

He’s shaking now, from all manners of emotions colliding at once. He’s wracked with guilt, rage, crippling remorse. He longs to leap onto his horse and gallop back, find Taehyung and fall on his face before him to beg for forgiveness, but he knows that he’ll never find him. The night is dark, the moon hardly even a sliver where it hangs precariously in the sky, and he has no way of finding his way back to the exact place that he had left him behind. 

Another stab of pain rips through his chest at the thought of Taehyung, alone and scared in the coldness of the night, broken and torn apart by words that had come from his own mouth. 

_Wait for him to return._

And what if he never does?

———

All that Taehyung can think about is the cold. 

Cold hands, cold eyes, cold words. 

He can’t stop shuddering, despite his woolen uniform and several blankets wrapped around his shoulders. Yongsa is lying behind him, and he tucks his head into the horse’s side, but his body continues to shake. Everything hurts. His face stings from the bitter wind outside, his side and arm throb where they’re wounded, his muscles ache from battle, and his heart feels like shattered glass inside his chest. Most painful of all is the loneliness, the true, crushing feeling of being entirely alone. Where he thought he may have found community, there is now empty space in a cave that barely shields him from the harsh wind. Where he thought he had found purpose, there are now only the stinging reminders of his failure wrapped in bandages. Where he thought he had found love, there are instead tears pooling in the dirt and two souls ripped apart by betrayal. 

A glow appears behind him, warmth like a lone ray of sunshine settling over his back. 

“What took you so long?” Taehyung sniffles as Hoseok pads around to settle in front of him, a gentle, somber expression dulling the usual fire in his eyes. 

“Had to deliver an important message,” Hoseok replies softly, reaching out his hands to cup Taehyung’s face. His touch is warm and soothing, not searing hot like it was at first. Taehyung leans into the contact and lets a tear slip from each of his eyes, his lower lip trembling the slightest bit. 

Hoseok doesn’t say anything, just steps back a few paces and holds his index finger out, where a flame sparks and dances up into the air, free-floating like a bonfire without any fuel or tie to the ground. Taehyung jerks back in surprise, but the warmth is very welcomed as he feels it work through his skin and massage out some of his stiffness. Hoseok perches himself on Yongsa’s back and wraps his arms around Taehyung’s neck from behind, rocking them back and forth slightly. 

“I should never have left home,” Taehyung mutters, gazing ruefully into the flames. 

Hoseok hums his disagreement, hooking his chin over Taehyung’’s shoulder. “You went to save your father’s life, you’re very brave. You had no idea that any of this would happen.” 

“I should have though,” Taehyung fires back, a little bit of bite to his tone, “I _did_. I dreamed about it, I thought about it constantly, secrets never stay secret for long. And I should have realized that he would be just like the rest.” He sniffs, burying his face in his hands. “I should have known that he, too, would see me for what I really am.” A tear falls. “A curse.” 

Hoseok sucks in a breath and slips down to sit in front of Taehyung, his eyes serious and shining with storminess that is uncharacteristic of them. “Do not say things like that, Kim Taehyung.” 

“Why not?” Taehyung cries, losing his composure quickly as despair morphs into rage, “Why shouldn’t I when I've done nothing but bring misery to myself and those who are unlucky enough to come close to me?” He shoves his blankets into the dirt and clenches his fists in between his legs, his skin quickly turning hot with emotion. “If I thought that I could ever be more than what they say I am, something different, I was wrong.” He laughs, the sound cacophonous and empty, digging his nails into the flesh of his palms. “I am _nothing.”_

Hoseok’s mouth falls open in shock, a noise of disbelief rumbling in his chest, the darkness in his eyes erupting with red instead of orange. “Does someone who is nothing save the lives of the people he loves without a care for his own safety?” He asks, his voice unnervingly steady, “Would he give freely of himself knowing full well that he could get hurt because of it?” His voice grows more urgent, and he reaches out and clasps Taehynug’s limp fists in his small hands. “Could he be the tipping point in a battle that he doesn’t even know has been won?” 

Taehyung looks up at that, realization flooding him. When he had awoken, the last thing he could remember before blackness was fighting, slashing blindly forward until he could no more. While he was asleep, they must have won. Just that one battle, yes, but they won nonetheless against China’s most formidable forces. A bitter sense of pride crawls through his veins, like he wants to be joyous but can’t be. He’s about to retort when the sound of voices outside makes his blood run cold. 

It’s foreign, words that his brain struggles to recognize, but he knows that they’re familiar. His parents had insisted that he be tutored in Chinese as a child, though he never knew for what purpose. Maybe it’s for right this moment, as he strains his ears to understand the murmuring. 

“...Trap,” one voice says, raspy and harsh on his ears. 

“They’re walking right into it,” cackles another, higher pitched and horribly reminiscent of Hanjin’s. Taehyung shudders at the thought of what these men might look like if their appearances are anything like their voices. 

“Funny to think that they believe they’ve won,” the raspy one drawls, coughing and hacking on either side of his sentence. 

“We’ll be waiting at the Capitol, General Zhuang will never let them escape without making them pay for what they did to us.” 

Taehyung shivers at the name of the massive man, the monstrosity of a leader that he had seen Jeongguk fighting during the battle. He doesn’t know what happened during that fight, but he must have survived despite his army’s defeat. He holds his breath and prays that the men walk past, only exhaling when he hears their voices muffle into the distance. His mind races, trying to make sense of the words he’s just heard. Hoseok must’ve understood, too, his eyes wide and his mouth pinched shut. 

“Trap?” Taehyung whispers, and Hoseok nods. He feels all of his emotions redirect, channeling themselves into a decision. He remembers, through the fog of his memory, that Jeongguk had said they were going to the Capitol for a celebration. The Chinese men were discussing a trap in the Capitol, clearly set for Taehyung’s former troop in retaliation for their defeat. He knows what he has to do. 

He hardly gives himself any time to doubt his decision as he jumps up and slaps Yongsa’s rump, startling him to his feet so that he can sling his few belongings over his back. He pulls himself to his seat, ignoring the sharp sting that flares in his side, and looks expectantly at Hoseok, who is still standing astounded. 

“I have to warn them,” he hisses, holding out a hand for Hoseok to join him, but Hoseok just shakes his head. 

“This is your journey to make, Tae. I’ll be watching, but you must do it alone.” His voice is almost sad, but he looks at Taehyung with pride in his glowing eyes, the sight of it so unfamiliar that it makes his heart twinge with affection. He has no time to argue, he has a lot of ground to cover if he wants to get to the Capitol in time. 

He kicks his heels into Yongsa’s flanks and yells, urging them forward as gentle snowflakes begin to twirl in the air around them. He knows the general direction of the Capitol city from here, but he keeps his eyes on the ground and follows the broad band of hoofprints digging into the snow beneath Yongsa’s feet. 

He doesn’t think, blocks out his emotions and gives them no space to crowd his mind as he spurs Yongsa on, the horse heaving thick streams of his breath to evaporate into the still air, his hooves pounding into the ground as he gallops as fast as he can through the canyon and out into the rolling, snow-covered hills outside the Capitol. Time blurs and the nagging fear he wasn’t fast enough, that it’ll be too late, wriggles around like a worm at the back of his mind. 

_I can’t be too late, that’s not an option._

Finally, after what feels like too long and no time at all, the stone wall of the Capitol city appears on the horizon, The sun riding low behind the mountains and casting an illuminating glow on its looming silhouette. 

“Almost there, boy, keep going,” Taehyung whispers next to Yongsa’s ear, his heart twinging at how exhausted his horse sounds, his labored breaths coming out in harsh puffs. The horse presses forward with his heart thumping in his ribs against Taehyung’s calves, but his stride never falters. As they draw nearer to the gates, the glow of lamps and the sound of cheering becomes clear. Taehyung’s heart skips a beat, it seems that he’s not too late. As they approach the guards standing at the gate, he pulls his thin cloak up over his head, not particularly wanting to discuss his newly exposed appearance with the guards when the lives of his friends are at stake. Only a moment later, Yongsa trots to a stop before the closed gate, two brawny but bored looking guards eyeing them apathetically. 

“Name and reason for entry?” One drawls, lifting his eyes to Taehyung’s face. 

“Kim Taehyung, soldier in the company that’s being celebrated tonight. I trail behind the rest for reasons I cannot disclose, I have an urgent message for Colonel Jeon.” He holds his head high and tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, praying internally that the guards let him in without too many questions. The two men look back and forth between each other and Taehyung before they step away from the massive wooden doors and yell for them to be opened. Taehyung breathes a sigh of relief as the doors creak open. 

As soon as Yongsa carries him inside the walls, fiery light and deafening cheering smack him across the face. There are people everywhere, crowding together as tightly as possible and shouting their praises in what seems like a procession. Taehyung has an advantage by being on horseback, but Yongsa shifts nervously on his feet at the congestion of people blocking their way. Taehyung kicks his heels into his sides and urges him forward anyway, knowing that people will move if they have no other choice. 

“I have an important message for the Colonel, move!” He yells repeatedly as Yongsa makes his way slowly through the tightly packed crowd. He looks around, wondering how many of the faces he sees belong to enemy soldiers, or where they could be if the answer is none. Soon he can see, in the center, a parade of soldiers surrounded by lanterns and brightly colored celebratory flags and people waving their arms in their direction. Several masked people in intricately woven costume robes dance and hop about in the space around the rows of horses, jugglers and fire-breathers and musicians, all of them creating a cacophony of noise and color. Taehyung catches sight of Seokjin and Jimin, riding side by side with detached expressions casting shadows over their faces, and his gut twists. He scans the dense procession of men, and his breath hitches when his eyes settle on who they were dreading and longing to see again, despite everything. At the front of the parade, following a little man carrying a royal flag, is Jeongguk, his face locked in that hard, indecipherable expression that seems to have taken him over. Taehyung’s throat feels like it’s closing, but he pinches his eyes shut and forces himself forward. His broken, weeping heart can wait until after he warns them of what’s coming. 

He shoves through the front line of onlookers, earning him a variety of curses and gasps, but he couldn’t care any less as he takes a deep breath, weaving around the performers, and pulls Yongsa up next to Jeongguk. A murmur from the men following them can be heard breaking out, but all that Taehyung focuses on is Jeongguk. His gaze turns to him, and for just a moment, one that Taehyung thinks he could’ve imagined, that cold barrier masking his eyes cracks. 

“Taehyung? What—” Jeongguk whispers, and Taehyung clenches his jaw and tries not to think about how soft his name sounds coming from those very lips that had cursed it just hours before. 

“Sir,” Taehyung grits out, keeping his face as unaffected as he can, “I’ve heard from the Chinese of a plot to trap you and overtake the city, they’re here. We need to get everyone out and prepare for a fight.” 

Jeongguk just stares at him, and Taehyung could punch him from how innocent and clueless he looks, as if he wasn’t the very man who had ripped his world to bloody shreds. 

“Tae, I-”

“Do not call me that.” Taehyung spits, hoping that every bit of his rage flames in his eyes for Jeongguk to behold. “I have only come to warn and fight with you, and when it is over, I pray that I’ll never see you again, as you have made it clear that’s what you desire.” 

Jeongguk recoils, his jaw going slack as the barrier cracks more. 

“Did you hear me? We’re going to be attacked!” Taehyung yells, frustration boiling in his veins. 

“This is no place for you any longer, Kim. Go home.” Captain Min’s disinterested voice comes from right behind Jeongguk, and Taehyung wheels around. 

“I am fully aware of this, sir. With all due respect, considering that you threw me out it is no longer my duty to tell you that the Chinese are poised for attack, yet here I am. Will you take me at my word for the safety of this city, or would you prefer to be attacked unprepared and allow slaughter and defeat to be an option because of your disbelief?” The words taste like sweet alcohol rolling off of his tongue, scathing and delicious. Captain Min looks surprised, but he turns his attention forward in blatant disregard and repeats, 

“Go home, Kim.” 

Taehyung growls and kicks Yongsa to a trot backwards along the parade until he sees Seokjin and Jimin, their eyes cast downwards and blank expressions on their faces. 

“Hyungs,” he calls out, and their heads lift in unison. Taehyung wishes he could take longer than a split second to enjoy the shocked looks that explode on their faces, but there is too much at stake. 

“Tae? We thought you were-”

“There is no time to waste,” Taehyung interjects, pulling Yongsa’s reins to stop him. “We’re going to be attacked, the Chinese have a trap of some sort here.” He can see the confusion written all over their faces, their eyebrows furrowing. 

“But we-”

“I don’t know how, I thought they were defeated as well, but I overheard them talking about it after you left.” He watches the dismay slip in, so he rushes to continue. “Don’t think about that, I’m here now. We need to get the people out to safety, we don’t know when they’ll attack, if they do at all.” 

He bites his lip and looks imploringly at his friends, trying to gauge their reactions. They look at each other, then at him, reminiscent of the guards just moments ago. 

“We’re with you,” Jimin whispers, uncharacteristically solemn, and Taehyung smiles and reaches out his hand to shake both of theirs gratefully. 

The slow shuffling of the horses stops, and the crash of a huge gong at the front of the courtyard vibrates through the air. Taehyung turns to look, as does every other person around, and his eyes widen when he sees a tall, thin man rise from what looks like a throne. Taehyung slaps himself internally for never realizing. They’re in the capital city, home of the Emperor, and judging by the way that everyone in the courtyard bows deeply and a hush falls over the previously rowdy crowd, that man must be the Emperor himself. Taehyung follows everyone around him and bows his head as far as he can while on horseback, grateful that his cloak still drapes over his hair. Public outcry against his appearance would only add to the chaos. 

When he looks up, Jeongguk is sliding off of his horse, gracefully landing on one knee with his head bowed before the Emperor. He stands and makes his way up the grand stone steps leading up to the throne, and Taehyung nearly forgets the celebration from how intense the atmosphere becomes. The Emperor, who has a long, white beard and is dressed in the most exquisite robes Taehyung has ever seen, holds his hand out to the side, where a guard immediately hands him a long, heavy looking sword. He opens his mouth as Jeongguk comes up the last step, and is about to speak when an ear-splitting _bang!_ sounds in the center of the courtyard. There’s a beat of silence as Taehyung’s stomach plummets, and screams erupt in the crowd. All around him, the performers rip off their masks and pull swords and knives from their robes, weapons seeming to materialize out of nowhere and ringing out their metallic song as chaos breaks loose. Heart seizing with terror, Taehyung narrowly ducks away from a stray knife, pulling his sword from where it hangs at his side to slash blindly at the intruders who come near. 

It’s the battle all over again, but in the glow of festive lamps instead of the cold light of the mountains. People scream and shove each other in a futile effort to get away from the fighting. In the midst of the chaos, Taehyung is hardly aware of when he slid down from Yongsa, still cutting blindly through the air. In a moment of respite, his gaze cuts to the top of the wall, and a shock of horror tears through his gut. Only a little way away from the palace steps is General Zhuang himself, his form grotesque where it crouches. His expression is bored, unimpressed, his beady eyes watching the carnage ensue as if it’s not worth his time. 

Taehyung’s heart hammers against his ribs as he pushes his way towards the steps, stomach twisting as the general slinks along the wall to where the Emperor stands. Suddenly, the several royal guards standing around him don’t seem like enough against the looming shadow of Zhuang’s massive form. 

Another crack sounds through the air, this one right by Taehyung’s ears, making him cry out and reel back as his ear rings and throbs. He gasps when he turns and sees the cause. There stands Hoseok, but he’s different from his Hoseok. He’s the height of a full-grown man and has lost his usual orange aura, his skin looking as fleshy and human as Taehyung’s own. He looks almost like a normal man, but the fire flickering dangerously in his eyes is just as bright and unhinged as always. Taehyung can’t help but laugh incredulously as Hoseok waves around a wicked bronze sword, wild nearly to the point of being maniacal. 

“I couldn’t miss out on a good fight,” he explains nonchalantly, as if his huge sword isn’t sending everyone scattering from his vicinity. Taehyung only has a brief moment to stare before he’s being attacked again, a rat-like man with a squashed face leaping toward him with a knife outstretched. Taehyung knocks him to the side with the flat of his sword and continues toward the steps, moving as fast as he can through the throngs of people and soldiers. 

“Taehyung!” He hears a distant call of his name, but it’s quickly swept up in the rest of the noise. He must be going insane; it sounded just like Jeongguk. 

He shakes his head and finally reaches the steps, but he’s too late. General Zhuang is already there, his meaty fist wrapped around the throat of the only remaining guard. The Emperor stands as proud as ever, dignity evident in the way his jaw is set and posture is straight. Taehyung swallows hard and starts sprinting towards the general, trying not to be intimidated by his massive height when his gaze turns on him. The guard squeaks in Zhuang’s hold, his terrified face turning an ugly shade of purple. Taehyung raises his sword and rushes at the general, swinging his sword with all of his might at his head. The blade zips through the air, but Zhuang ducks just in time, and the guard wriggles free from his grip to collapse on the floor, clutching at his chest and gasping for breath. Taehyung swings again, and again, stepping forward with each strike and pushing Zhuang back with everything he can summon. He focuses all of his energy on each movement, knowing that a single slip-up could be his downfall. Zhuang growls and stoops to pick up the sword of a dead guard, its length looking minuscule in his fist. Taehyung gulps when he spots the glint of the general’s own horrid, enormous sword, lying in the doorway like a wretched spike of lightning. 

His mind blurs as he acts on instinct and muscle memory, blocking every strike that comes his way. He vaguely registers Jimin and Seokjin fighting two burly Chinese soldiers in the room beyond the steps, the surly faces of the men so similar that they might be twins. Belatedly, his mind snaps back to his own fight when Zhuang darts around him to grab the Emperor by his gold-threaded collar, dragging him inside the high doorway. Taehyung leaps through and tries to stop Zhuang from moving any further, but the general picks up his sword and rips it through the air in a wide arc. Taehyung’s blood runs cold and he jumps back too late, the tip of the sword slashing across his chest and making a hot sting erupt across the skin. He looks down in shock as blood seeps through his old bandages and across the torn front of his tunic. 

A sickening crack sounds behind him then, and he turns to see Jimin slamming the skull of one of the twins into the marble floor. The man lays still as pooling blood creeps over the stone, and Jimin stands with his chest heaving and a gash running diagonally across his face. 

“Tae!” He screams out, and Taehyung whips around just in time to sidestep another strike from Zhuang. Through his peripheral, he sees Seokjin driving his sword directly into the chest of the second twin, who coughs out blood and falls to his knees before rolling to the side, unmoving. Then Jimin is beside him, doubling Taehyung’s strikes.

“Get the Emperor!” Taehyung yells over the clang of metal, and Zhuang growls, baring his crooked, pointed teeth. Seokjin steps around him and tries to sneak up on his back, but Zhuang swings again with a speed Taehyung struggles to follow. The flat of his blade smacks into Seokjin’s chest with a gut-wrenching thump, and he flies backwards toward the other side of the room. 

“Hyung!” Taehyung cries out hoarsely, and Jimin gasps and rushes to where he’s landed. He’s still conscious, clutching at his chest and wheezing for breath. Taehyung looks at him for just a second too long, long enough for Zhuang to start up the steps to the balcony, dragging the Emperor with him. Taehyung looks back and forth between the stairs and where Jimin kneels with a hand on Seokjin’s back in a horrid moment of indecision, blood throbbing too loudly in his ears. Alone, he has no chance of winning against the general. Seokjin is incapacitated for the time being, and even Jimin and himself together won’t be enough. He looks helplessly at Jimin, who is hoisting Seokjin up with an arm over his shoulder, fear racing like ice through his veins. 

“Go, Tae,” Jimin yells, and it snaps Taehyung out of his daze. He doesn’t give himself any time to hesitate or reconsider the odds before he’s sprinting up the steps with his sword outstretched, heart pounding faster than ever. When he lands on the balcony, Zhuang is circling the Emperor like a tiger waiting to pounce. 

“I said _bow to me,_ ” he demands, his voice so deep and menacing it hardly sounds human. The Emperor keeps his gaze straight ahead, hands folded thoughtfully at his waist. 

“I will not,” he replies calmly, “The oak does not bow to the wind, no matter how mightily it blows.” 

Zhuang roars in frustration and drives his sword into a wooden pillar nearby, the blade sinking several inches into the painted wood. Taehyung snatches the opportunity and lunges forward, swiping his own sword at Zhuang’s head, who ducks and yanks his sword out of the pillar, spraying splinters of wood over the floor. He snarls and steps forward, thrusting his blade in Taehyung’s direction as he moves. Taehyung jumps to the side in time to avoid the strike, but he knocks his head on a hanging lantern, and watches as Zhuang’s expression falls when his hood slips down the back of his head. He doesn’t know how it stayed up until now, but the shock washing over the general’s features almost makes him wish that it had fallen sooner.

“What are you?” He breathes, his stance faltering. 

“Some call me a demon,” Taehyung replies, revelling in the expression of fear he’s seeing for the first time on the general’s twisted face. He tosses his head and lets his white hair fall around his face with a grin, a strange sense of accomplishment bubbling in his chest. He can hear the Emperor gasp in surprise from the corner that he’s fled to, but he doesn’t delay any longer as he takes advantage of Zhuang’s confusion and slashes at him, putting all of his strength into his strikes as he steps forward again and again. For a moment, it feels like he’s winning as he pushes the general back, but it’s flipped all too quickly when his opponent twists beneath his blade and switches their positions. Now it’s Taehyung being forced ever closer to the balcony behind him, the jagged, rocky ground a fatal distance below. 

He puts every remaining shred of defiance he has into fighting back, his blade locked against Zhuang’s far bigger one, but he knows all too well he’s only delaying his end. Zhuang pulls back only to swipe at the hilt of Taehyung’s sword, and it flies from his hand and skitters across the stone floor. To his back is the short railing of the balcony, too high off the ground for him to escape from. In front of him, Zhuang raises the tip of his sword to Taehyung’s throat, the point teasing against his skin and making it hard to swallow. This is where he dies, he thinks, this is where it’s over. His life has seemed so fruitless, maybe his death will at least bear some reward to the people. 

He closes his eyes and breathes in the acrid scent of blood and smoke. Everything hurts, his side and chest screaming in hot flares of pain as he allows himself to notice them for the first time. His heart aches as he thinks of Jeongguk, thinks of him before all of this. His bunny smile, his dark eyes that were too expressive for a soldier, his rough palms that could touch with gentleness despite the callouses. His voice when he said Taehyung’s name like it was his favorite word, how he bit at his lip and smiled in between kisses. He thinks on these things and lets them consume him as everything else fades away, even as the pressure from Zhuang’s blade forces him to step back towards his demise. He takes a deep breath and holds it, ready to fall or be pierced. 

Neither happens. 

Someone yells ferociously at his side and a blade cracks down against Zhuang’s, driving it into the floor with a sharp _clang._ Taehyung snaps his head up, and he thinks he must have already died when he sees Jeongguk himself, eyes ablaze with determination so intense and beautiful that Taehyung can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Fear flashes through Zhuang’s beady black eyes, and Taehyung feels new vigor rush through him as he pushes away from the balcony and retrieves his sword. He crosses it with Jeongguk’s, both locked together against Zhuang’s, and shoves forward with Jeongguk beside him. They push until the general’s back hits the opposite railing, this one at an even more treacherous height than the one Taehyung was pressed against just moments ago. 

“For Korea,” Taehyung whispers, ripping his sword out of the three-way lock and kicking Zhuang in the chest with a fierce cry. He watches as Zhuang’s eyes widen in terror, and then he’s falling, his arms flailing helplessly as he tumbles toward the ground of the courtyard. A hard, deadened thump followed by a chorus of gasps, then sudden silence where before there was the din of battle. Taehyung flinches, and when he looks over the wall he sees the twisted form of the man laying still in the dust, a ring of startled people from both sides surrounding him.

He places a hand on the stone wall for balance, everything flooding at him all at once. Pain tears through his side and his chest. His vision blurs. His head suddenly feels light.

Jeongguk turns to look at him, and something ugly starts to boil in Taehyung’s chest. “Tae, can—”

“Don’t.” Taehyung interrupts, his voice hoarse. “Please don’t.” He turns around and starts making his way down the staircase before he can see Jeongguk's reaction, hot tears burning in his eyes. When he’s nearly at the bottom of the steps, his knees give out and he collapses, leaning against the bannister and pressing his clammy forehead to the back of his forearm. His head lolls to one side and he tries to keep his breathing even. 

“Tae,” comes Jimin’s worried voice, and his strong hands grip Taehyung’s shoulders to pull him to his feet. He’s steady when Taehyung feels his legs threatening to give again, gripping his shoulders tightly and holding up his weight. “Come and see,” he murmurs, and Taehyung feels like he’s likely to pass out before he sees much of anything.

Jimin walks them to the landing of the grand steps outside, the people still gaping at the corpse of General Zhuang where it lies face down in the dirt. Murmurs and whispers erupt when Taehyung and Jimin step into the light, fingers rising to point at them. Taehyung tries not to focus on the sickening tang of blood and smoke choking his nostrils as he leans heavily on Jimin. 

He’s nearly forgotten that there are more enemies than just Zhuang, Chinese soldiers in different states of injury dispersed among the dense crowd. Every person is silent, staring at him, at Zhuang, at each other, every face looking blank and confused as if they’ve just awoken from a deep sleep. It’s dead silent, a tension so thick in the air Taehyung thinks he could hold it in the palm of his hand. 

Then, a metallic clatter rings through the courtyard. 

Another. 

In only a moment, the air is filled with the sound of Chinese soldiers dropping their weapons to the ground, their hands slowly raising into the air. Taehyung’s heart pounds and he feels blood throb in every scrape and wound, unable to believe his eyes as he slumps against Jimin and relief floods his body. Tears sting in his eyes and feel hot as they stream down his cheeks, salty when they trickle to his lips. Cheers erupt in the crowd from his fellow soldiers and the people of the city, and he feels Jimin squeeze his shoulders gently. 

“Tae, we did it,” he yells over the shouting, his grin so wide and bright that Taehyung can’t help but crack a smile in return as he nods.

Imperial soldiers swarm the surrendering enemies and tie their wrists together. Taehyung doesn’t pay them any mind as a sharp, overpowering ringing explodes in his ears. The light from the lamps fires in the courtyard dance too quickly, like they’re seconds away from breaking free. He’s confused, struggling to understand what’s just happened and trying to make sense of everything in his foggy brain, his eyes unable to stay focused. Everything blurs, and he can hardly make out the words and chants he’s hearing, or separate the movements of fists in the air from the flickering of lamps. He thinks he can see Jeongguk’s face swimming amongst the others, but it’s rippling and distorted no matter how hard he blinks to clear his vision. 

“What’s your name, boy?” 

Taehyung doesn’t even register the voice addressing him until Jimin jostles him a little bit. The Emperor has stepped up beside them, a little bit disheveled perhaps, but looking far less shaken than Taehyung would’ve expected. Jimin nudges him again. 

“Kim Taehyung, your Majesty,” he murmurs, bowing his head as much as he can when Jimin is holding nearly his entire weight. Jimin bows at the waist, taking Taehyung with him, and the Emperor chuckles deep in his chest when Jimin tugs Taehyung by the back of his tunic to get him righted again. 

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Kim Taehyung,” the Emperor begins, folding his hands in his sleeves and looking at Taehyung with an indecipherable expression. “You stole your father’s horse and sword.” Taehyung snaps his head up as quickly as he can, wondering how the Emperor knows that. His throat feels restricted when he sees Hanjin slinking out from behind a guard, a slimy, horribly triumphant look on his face, as if satisfied that Taehyung is exactly where he should be. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Jimin, but his hyung doesn’t move from where he’s holding Taehyung up, even though Taehyung knows his blood is probably boiling in his veins. 

“You illegally entered this military by impersonating a soldier, deceived your commanding officers and fellow men.” Taehyung bows his head and looks at his hands where they shake in his lap, a hot shame burning at his cheeks. The Emperor sounds disappointed, and something about the way he’s presenting Taehyung’s faults before all of his friends and the people makes him feel horribly small. His vision blurs with tears when Jimin squeezes his arm reassuringly, and he swears he can feel Jeongguk staring at him from the crowd. 

“However,” the Emperor says, and Taehyung lifts his eyes just the slightest bit. “You saved my life and risked your own in what seemed like an impossible battle to protect your country. You fought bravely.” He sighs heavily, and Taehyung dares to look up into his face, which holds an expression that’s much softer than Taehyung expected. Where a moment ago he had sounded like he was ready to have Taehyung beheaded for treason, now his gaze has turned kinder, almost mirthful, and Taehyung has no idea how he’s supposed to respond. 

“That makes you something of an enigma, Kim Taehyung,” He says, and Taehyung’s heart sinks. _An enigma._ Something he’s been called many times before, and never fully understood. The term is one people have used to describe him before if they were too polite to call him what they really thought of him as; a demon or a cursed child.

“Sir?” He asks, lifting his head a bit. 

“All of society and lore would have us believe that difference is cursed,” he starts, and Taehyung feels that familiar sinking in his stomach. “But you have proved us wrong. You do not bring us misfortune.” 

Taehyung looks up at him with wide eyes, warmth blooming in his chest. “Your Majesty?” He asks, surprise evident in his voice. 

“You saved this city and this country, despite her cruelty towards you. Korea owes you her respect and gratitude.” 

Taehyung is so surprised that some of the pain darkening his vision fades away and his ears stop ringing so deafeningly. He looks around, suddenly more alert, as if he’s realizing for the first time that all the people are cheering for _him._

“Kneel in front of the throne,” the Emperor instructs as he moves towards the center of the landing where the throne sits. Taehyung follows obediently, wobbling the few steps it takes with Jimin hovering behind him should he fall. The crowd hushes and the cheers peter out when the Emperor raises his arms, his embroidered sleeves falling like silken wings from his arms. 

“The fight is not yet over,” he calls out, words echoing in the stone walls, “But we could have already succumbed to calamity were it not for the bravery of our soldiers, whom we invited to honor.” He lowers his gaze to Taehyung, who has gotten down to one knee with his head bowed in front of the Emperor. 

“Kim Taehyung,” he says for all to hear, “I honor you with the sword of your enemy.” Taehyung can hardly make sense of the Emperor’s words, but he looks up to see the old man holding out the huge, jagged sword of Zhuang, nearly as long as he is tall. “Korea thanks you for your honor and bravery in the midst of trial,” his eyes flick pointedly to someone behind Taehyung. “What was believed to be your curse is instead your strength, you persevered through tribulation and became a beacon of hope for your country.” 

Tears smart in Taehyung’s eyes, he can hardly believe what he’s hearing. His chest aches, his heart still shattered and weeping, but there’s a strange sense of belonging, of pride, two things he’s never known in his twenty years of life. 

“Take this as a token of my gratitude to you, Kim Taehyung,” the Emperor says, unclasping a flat, golden medallion from around his neck and draping it around Taehyung’s. “Remember that the flower that blooms in adversity is the most beautiful of all.” 

There’s a thunderous moment of applause from the crowd, and it takes several seconds for Taehyung to realize that they’re chanting his name, cheering for _him._ He presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself from sobbing, getting to his feet and standing beside Jimin, who is cheering almost louder than all of the people combined. 

“Colonel Jeon Jeongguk,” the Emperor calls, and Taehyung’s heart skips a beat as the crowd quiets. Jeongguk emerges from the front of the crowd, eyes cast down, and makes his way up the steps with his back straight and shoulders square. Taehyung can’t bear to look at his face as he draws closer, kneeling before the Emperor in the exact place he was just a moment ago. “Korea thanks you for your bravery in the face of the unexpected, your fearlessness as a leader has helped preserve our safety and freedom.” The Emperor extends a hand, and an attendant places a small, glittering medal in his palm with a deep bow. “I hereby name you General Jeon Jeongguk, the youngest general in Korea’s history. Thank you for all you have sacrificed.” 

Another loud cheer explodes as the Emperor reaches out to pin the medal to Jeongguk’s chest, the surface of it shining brilliantly against the dirty fabric of his uniform. Taehyung has a difficult time breathing, and he sees Jimin half-heartedly clapping to his side. He turns to leave down the steps, unable to stand much longer in Jeongguk’s presence. He told him he came to fight and then disappear, and that is what he intends to do. Jimin follows closely behind him, a steadying hand in the small of his back. The crowd parts for him as he walks, astonished gazes glued to the top of his head, but they’re more reverent than disgusted. Taehyung grits his teeth and tries to keep his head held high despite the ache that pounds all through his body. He spots Seokjin, a grin so wide it could split his face open shining as he reaches out his arms and runs towards Taehyung. He wraps him in his arms, gently so as not to hurt him, but the intensity of the embrace is there nonetheless. 

“I’m proud of you, Tae,” he murmurs in his ear, and Taehyung swallows hard to stop himself from tearing up again. Jimin tries to hug them both, but his arms are too short to reach. He squeezes them anyway, nuzzling his head against Taehyung’s shoulder. 

“Taehyung?” A small voice, the last one that Taehyung wants to hear, breaks into their bubble of celebration. He pinches his eyes shut tighter still, praying silently that he’s only imagining it. He isn’t, because when he reluctantly pulls away from his friends, Jeongguk stands before him. He fidgets with his fingers nervously, and Taehyung can tell that he’s trying his best to appear stoic and general-like. Only a little while ago, the imploring expression on Jeongguk’s face would have made his heart melt and butterflies erupt in his stomach, but now it enrages him. 

“Was I not clear?” He asks, feeling bold. “I said that I was here to warn you, fight alongside you. Now I will go and disappear from your life, you’re free to go on.” He clenches his fists at his sides, his voice surprisingly even as he stares Jeongguk down. 

“You really came to save us?” Jeongguk asks, his eyes wide and glistening. 

Taehyung scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I could’ve taken my warning and gone home with it swallowed down my throat, it would’ve been fitting for me to let you be caught in a trap that would’ve meant your death.” He gazes directly into Jeongguk’s eyes, surprised at the words coming from his own mouth. “Perhaps I’m a better man than he who would leave others behind for his own benefit.”

Jeongguk falters at that, taking a step back with a resigned expression on his face. His eyes lower to his hands and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, like he’s trying to think of what to say. 

“Forget about me, Jeongguk, it’ll be easier for both of us that way.” Now Taehyung can feel his voice starting to waver, no matter how firm he wants the words to come out. He spins on his heel and pushes past a stunned Jimin and Seokjin into the crowd, knowing that his resolve threatens to crack at any moment. He hears calls of his name, but he ignores them as he shoves through the throngs of people. His eyes burn with tears as he wanders until he finds Yongsa, nibbling at a bucket of grains in a corner of the square. 

“Let’s go home, boy,” he whispers in the horse’s ear, and he barely has the strength to pull himself to a mount before he’s slumping over, the last of his energy sapped. Yongsa turns his head to nose at Taehyung’s hair, a low nicker rumbling in his throat as he starts to step through the slowly dispersing crowd. Taehyung wraps his arms around the horse’s neck and rests his head in his thick mane, letting his eyes fall closed as he rides away with his back turned to the orange glow of the city. After several minutes, when it doesn’t fade, he furrows his eyebrows and peeks through one eye. 

Hoseok is perched on Yongsa’s neck, back to his usual small size. It looks like he’s almost hovering rather than actually resting his weight on the horse, his legs swinging on either side as he stares at Taehyung over his shoulder. 

“Hoseok,” Taehyung breathes, sitting up as a rush of fondness floods his exhausted body. Hoseok flips himself around so that he's facing Taehyung. He shows no signs of being in battle, his appearance returned to the playful, mischievous spirit he usually is rather than a fierce, blazing warrior. Taehyung supposes that both parts reside in him, reside in most people. 

“I’ve said it before, but I’m proud of you, Tae,” Hoseok says with a smile, reaching out to place a small, warm hand on Taehyung’s cheek. Taehyung leans into his touch, the warmth of the little palm like a summer breeze against his cold skin.

“Thank you for everything. You… you were the first to really believe in me and make me feel like I was more than just a curse.” 

“You’ve grown so much,” the spirit murmurs, pinching his cheek lightly, “It’s been an honor to be by your side and help you have faith in yourself.” A lump lodges in Taehyung’s throat, something about the way that Hoseok is looking at him feels very final. 

“You’re not coming back after this, are you?” He whispers, dropping his gaze so that the sheen of tears in his eyes can’t be seen. Hoseok just sighs and his hand drops to his lap, where he looks down and plays with his fingers. 

“I don’t know, truthfully,” he says, picking at the seam of his trousers, “I come to you as a guardian when you’re most in need. You’re a real man now, and you’ve faced a lot of things on your own without my help. I think I’m just here to give you a little bit of guidance when you need it, but you won’t need it as much now.”

Taehyung’s heart sinks in his chest at the words. “But I don’t want to face things on my own,” he says, taking both of Hoseok’s small hands into one of his. “I thought…” He drops off, that sickening ache creeping back into his ribs. “I thought that Jeongguk would be with me, that maybe I wouldn't have to be alone anymore.” He sniffs, a bitter grin on his lips, “I was wrong. Now I feel more alone than ever.”

“You’ll never be alone, Tae. Your family loves you, and I’ll always keep an eye on you.” Hoseok leans forward and plants a tiny kiss on Taehyung’s forehead. “Perhaps things aren’t as hopeless as they seem.” The spirit disappears with a crack into the cool of the night as a tear trickles down Taehyung’s cheek. 

  
  



	8. Indelible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indelible (adj) - a mark of ink that cannot be removed, unable to be forgotten

Taehyung places his fingers hesitantly against the gate. However many times he may have imagined what coming home would be like, nothing could have prepared him for the paralyzing nervousness he feels at standing before his home again. He takes a deep breath and pushes, the old gate screeching on its hinges and making him wince. He wants to take off Yongsa’s bridle and feed him before he faces his family, his horse having run long and hard to get him here. Taehyung limps toward the small pasture with Yongsa following closely behind him, and he’s nearly there when he hears the sound of humming and freezes in his place. 

His father sits facing away from him beneath a cherry tree, its branches bare and stark against the gray winter sky. He’s humming a sad song, his gaze fixed on the horizon, shoulders slumped tiredly. 

“Appa,” Taehyung is whispering before he can stop himself, his feet carrying him over to the bench. He falls to his knees before his father with his head bowed low, a sob already tightening his throat. 

His father pushes himself to his feet with his cane, astonishment clear on his face. “Taehyung,” he breathes incredulously, letting the cane fall to the ground. 

“Appa, I have g-gifts from the Emperor to honor our family,” Taehyung stutters, reaching behind his back to grasp General Zhuang’s sword, wrapped in sackcloth, and lay it at his father’s feet. He pulls the medallion over his head and lays that down, too, on top of the sword. He keeps his head bowed as his father stares at him for a moment, silence heavy in the air. Then he’s being pulled up, his father gripping his shoulders and tugging him into a tight embrace. His side pulses with pain, but he blocks it out and focuses instead on hugging his father back. 

“I care not for gifts when I have you, my son,” his father murmurs against his shoulder, the wetness of his tears soaking into Taehyung’s neck. He sobs quietly and squeezes tighter, savoring the moment that he wasn’t sure would ever come. 

“Taehyung!” He hears his mother gasp from behind, and in an instant she’s beside him, wrapping her arms around his chest and starting to weep into his shirt. His grandmother hobbles out right after, whooping in excitement and nudging her way into the knot of hugs. Taehyung sniffles and does his best to envelope his entire family in an embrace, sword and medallion forgotten beneath their feet. 

“I love you.” He whispers, over and over again to each of them as they hold each other beneath the cherry tree. 

———

Life returns to normal for Taehyung, sort of. Word of his heroism has spread like wildfire, arriving in his village before even he did. After several days of recuperation for his exhausted body and being fussed over by his mother, he feels like a new man. He lays still in bed on those days, trying his best to enjoy being lazy and taken care of, but his mind darts about and doesn’t let him truly rest. He can’t, not when his thoughts are a jumbled mess of battle flashbacks, memories of Jeongguk, not when he keeps waking up in a cold sweat expecting to hear Hanjin’s gong any second. His family doesn’t ask him about what happened, but he can tell by their questioning glances that they’re dying to know how he went from a scrawny runaway to being called the savior of Korea. He doesn’t want to talk about it, he knows that he can’t discuss the past several months without Jeongguk coming up, and his is a name that Taehyung isn’t ready to say.

When he ventures outside for the first time, the realization that nothing is the same hits him like a slap to the face. The stares that used to be disgusted are now enamored, the villagers appearing to have evolved from despising him to worshipping him overnight. It should feel like an improvement, he knows, but it doesn’t. He dreads going in public because he’s always met with a barrage of questions and praises and apologies from the very people who had spit on him and cursed the name of his family. In an unwelcome turn of events, he seems to have amassed a group of people he can only call fanatic suitors, men and women of all ages following him about and showering his family with courting gifts and marriage proposals. 

So, much like before he left, he spends most of his time at home or in his favorite place in the forest. It’s a safe place, where the trees and the sun have not changed their opinion of him, have always accepted him as he is. He’s brushing Yongsa and humming to himself when his mother steps into the pasture, a silk-wrapped box in her hands. Taehyung takes one look and pretends not to notice her, the dread sinking in his gut all too familiar now. 

“Taehyung-ah,” his mother greets, walking towards him, “There’s another boy here to see you.” 

“Send him away. I don’t want to see any of them,” Taehyung clips, furrowing his brow and staring intently at Yongsa’s coat he brushes it. His mother sighs and settles on the edge of the bench, setting the gift down beside her. 

“What happened, Taehyung?” She asks gently, and Taehyung’s stomach turns. He knew it was coming, but he’s no more prepared to answer than when he first arrived home. “Why are you so resistant to their advances?” 

Taehyung closes his eyes and exhales through his nose, trying to calm himself before he snaps at his mother for asking a simple question. “I don’t want to talk about it, Eomma,” he grits out, still moving the brush over Yongsa’s flank. 

“It’s time we did, my son,” his mother replies softly, standing and walking over to be beside him. She’s small in comparison to him now, nearly a head shorter, and her fingers barely touch when she wraps them around his wrist to bring his hand into both of her own. “I only want to understand, Taehyung-ah,” she murmurs earnestly, eyes warm and gentle. “Help me understand.” 

Taehyung feels a kick of guilt in his chest at how imploring his mother’s gaze is. He knows he's been shutting his family out. There’s no way for them to guess what he’s gone through if he doesn’t tell them, they can’t help him heal if they don’t even know what he’s feeling. He sags, dropping his gaze to the ground and moving to sit on the bench with his mother. 

“There was a man,” he starts, and he can already feel the painful lump rising in his throat. “He… I fell in love with him.” His mother doesn’t seem at all surprised, just nodding her head as he speaks. Taehyung’s eyes sting and he blinks rapidly to keep them from glossing with tears but it’s to no avail. “I hid myself, I dyed my hair black the entire time I was gone so that no one would know what I was.” His mother’s eyebrows furrow and she rubs comforting circles into the back of his hand, the sympathy loud in her eyes. “When he found out, he made it clear that he didn’t want me anymore.” He laughs bitterly, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Maybe he was just confused or upset, I don’t know, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him when…” He trails off, lower lip trembling, and he bites his tongue to keep a whimper from escaping. “I thought he loved me, too, and I was so afraid that he wouldn’t anymore when he found out what I really am. I wasn’t wrong.” A tear slips down his mother’s cheek as she lifts a thumb to brush Taehyung’s away. “I shouldn’t have been so stupid as to believe that he would be able to see past it and love me regardless.” 

His mother pulls him into her arms and he sobs then, the pain that’s been pushed down since he returned bubbling up beneath his skin. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers into his hair, stroking it lovingly. He wraps his arms around her waist and sniffles in her arms until his breathing evens out again and the tears slow down. 

“What if you give them a chance?” His mother murmurs, and that’s truthfully the last thing Taehyung wants to hear. “He clearly is undeserving of you, you have a dozen boys just waiting to court and flatter and worship you.” Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through his nose to keep himself from retorting too harshly. 

“They have no care for me, Eomma, not genuinely,” he mutters, pulling away to sit up straight. “That man still consumes all of the space in my heart. I’m not ready to replace him with someone who decided to let go of their hatred of me only because I’m called a war hero now,” he sniffles, “No matter how much it hurts to keep him there.” 

His mother looks at him with sadness in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything more, just brushes her knuckles against his cheek and stands up to leave him sitting alone on the bench. 

  
  


———

  
  


It’s springtime. It’s come early this year, the thick blankets of snow melting away from the fruit trees sooner than usual, but Taehyung doesn’t mind at all as he sits beneath the young blossoms of the cherry tree. He’s writing, putting down a record of his experiences in the military. Despite his honors, he was still discharged for illegally sneaking in, and his presence would have made no difference as the Korean forces easily defeated their enemies following General Zhuang’s death. It’s strange, to be writing down his memories that seem like so long ago, yet are only mere months into the past. Jimin and Seokjin came to visit him on separate occasions, Seokjin with his wife and new baby, a little bundle of softness that made Taehyung’s heart melt when she wrapped her tiny fist around his pinky. Jimin had told him about Captain Min, Yoongi, and how they were working on starting a shelter for orphaned children like they had dreamed of so many years ago. Taehyung supposes that he, too, is happy, although a small hole still resides in his heart that might never be filled. He still turns away his eager suitors, but the bitter taste in his mouth he used to get when anyone presented him with gifts is no longer as strong. He feels like he’s healing, becoming accustomed to living this quiet life alone again. He often misses Hoseok, but he likes to imagine that he’s off being a faithful and mischievous companion to Taehyung’s unknown distant relatives. 

“Taehyung-ah,” his mother calls out into the yard, “There’s someone here to see you!” 

Taehyung sighs and rolls his eyes, he thought that he had managed to lose his crowd of followers in the square in town earlier today. “Send them away, Eomma, I’m busy,” he replies, looking down at the page he’s working on. 

“He insists, Taehyung, he says he only needs a moment,” he hears his mother’s muffled voice through the door. He huffs and plops his scroll into his lap, a small splatter of ink from his quill flying up to land on his cheek and making him flinch. 

“I don’t want to-”

He stops. 

The scroll and pen fall from his hands to land at his feet as he stands, eyes wide and chest growing unbearably tight. 

“Jeongguk,” he breathes, hardly able to believe his eyes. There, standing before him, is the man he’s been dreading, praying, hoping that he would see again.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk says softly, reaching out a hand hesitantly. Taehyung looks down at it, and a sudden nasty feeling twists in his chest, reality hitting him with full force. 

“How dare you,” he says before he can stop himself, his eyes already starting to burn with hot tears he didn’t expect. Jeongguk doesn’t falter, keeping his eyes on Taehyung even when they gloss over. “What are you doing here? I was _this_ close to being able to live without you, Jeongguk,” Taehyung spits, holding up his fingers and pinching them together to show his point. “What makes you think that you can walk right back into my life when I’ve spent so long begging for my heart to heal from you?” He’s crying now, his lip trembling and cheeks turning red, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fury burning in his gut only grows when Jeongguk looks unsurprised, sets his jaw and stares into Taehyung’s eyes, not even opening his mouth to refute the attacks. Taehyung doesn’t continue, just turns his back and holds his face in his hands, trying to quell the sobs threatening to tear loudly from his throat. 

Then, Jeongguk is before him, his eyes large and vulnerable. “Tae,” he whispers, and this time Taehyung doesn’t try to correct him, “I want to say that I’m sorry. I came only to beg for your forgiveness. If you let me say what I need to then I’ll walk away and you’ll never have to see me again.” His dark eyes cast down to the ground, a sheen of wetness over them glistening like a thousand stars. “I cannot live with myself any longer without at least trying to say that I’m sorry for what I did to you.” 

Taehyung doesn’t respond for a moment, moving to sit on the bench as he debates silently what to do. He knows that his anger is weak, and that he has little resolve to turn Jeongguk away. He asks himself if the heavy bitterness is worth holding onto any longer, if he would swallow his hurt and pride for the chance to hold the one he loves once again. 

“Go on,” he whispers, voice hardly audible. Jeongguk’s shoulders relax from where they were drawn up tight, like he was expecting to be shoved away again, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before he’s able to speak. He comes and sits down beside Taehyung, each movement slow and careful as if he’s afraid of scaring him away. 

“I was taught as a child that people different from me were not normal and should to be feared and rejected,” he starts, and Taehyung’s stomach rolls. “My father told me to be wary of those who would try to orchestrate my failure, those who would love to see me make a mistake and destroy everything my family has worked to build up.” He looks down at his hands and fiddles with the edge of his uniform, refusing to meet Taehyung’s gaze. “I believed him. I thought that I was a fair and just person, but I believed him.” Jeongguk chews on his lip, and Taehyung can tell that this is hard for him. “All of that was wrong. When you…” he trails off, clenching his fingers into the fabric of his pants. “When I saw you as you really are for the first time, I was terrified. You _are_ different, so all of those lies that I had been fed came rushing to me all at once, and I couldn’t see past my own prejudices enough to realize that you aren’t any of the things that they say.” He laughs mirthlessly, releasing his grip on his pants. “You’re kind, and gentle, but you have a fierce determination to protect those around you.” He looks up then, his eyes drifting around Taehyung’s tear-streaked face and to the loose bun of white hair sitting on top of his head. “You’re strong, and you’re passionate, and…” he reaches out, tentatively, and touches his thumb to Taehyung’s cheek. Taehyung sucks in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t pull away. Jeongguk smiles a little bit, retracting his hand to show Taehyung the small spot of ink staining his skin. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Taehyung’s breath hitches as Jeongguk slides down to his knees in front of him, clasping Taehyung’s hands tightly in his own. 

“Taehyung,” he chokes out, a tear rolling down his cheek, “I am so, so sorry. There hasn’t been a single day where my thoughts haven’t been consumed with you, not a single day where I didn’t tear myself apart with guilt and horror at the things I said to you.” His face scrunches up and he sniffs hard as he presses his lips to Taehyung’s hands. “I beg you for forgiveness.” His tears fall and collect in Taehyung’s fists, his back shaking with the effort to keep his voice from breaking. 

“I love you, Kim Taehyung. Let me love you.”

Taehyung lets a broken sob escape then, bowing his head to try to hide the way his face contorts. His heart thuds in his chest, and his stomach churns with conflicting pain and joy. He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to respond, so he just uncurls his fingers from Jeongguk’s and slips them up to rest on the other man’s jaw. He slowly tilts his head back until he can capture his lips in a kiss, salty and wet and wracked with emotion. It’s brief, just a press of their lips, but it speaks a thousand words that Taehyung can’t make come out of his throat. 

“Why did you take so long?” He asks, touching his forehead to Jeongguk’s. 

“I came as soon as I could,” Jeongguk murmurs, leaning into Taehyung’s touch, “I had duties I needed to attend to when the war ended.” He sighs, placing a small kiss on Taehyung’s palm. “I wanted to come sooner, I promise.” He looks up with wide eyes at Taehyung, almost worried. 

Taehyung lets the tense silence hang in the air for a moment, an odd sense of amusement tickling his chest, before he leans forward and kisses Jeongguk again, this time with a smile on his lips. Jeongguk pulls away wearing an astounded expression on his face, as if it’s dawning on him for the first time that Taehyung is kissing him. 

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Taehyung asks, and Jeongguk’s eyes grow even wider. 

“Do you want to stay forever?” Comes a shrill voice from behind them, and Taehyung very nearly leaps out of his skin. Jeongguk doesn’t fare much better, whipping his head around and face growing redder than Taehyung would've thought humanly possible. When he turns his own head he sees his grandmother, a mischievous, wild grin splitting her face open, her head sticking out perpendicular to the door frame. He glares pointedly at her until her head slowly retracts back into the house, but her smile never falters. He gives it a moment before looking back over his shoulder, just in case she decides to peek out again. When Taehyung returns his attention to Jeongguk, his chest tightens at the pretty flush of pink dusting his cheeks and nervous pout on his lips. 

“You… you want me to stay?” Jeongguk’s voice sounds so doubtful that Taehyung’s heart clenches in his chest. He smiles softly, brushing a thumb over the other man’s sharp cheekbone. 

“Yes, stay.” 

“Why?” Jeongguk asks, eyebrows tightly knit. 

“Because,” Taehyung murmurs, unable to bite back his smile, “I love you.” 

Jeongguk’s face lights up in a blinding smile, and he throws himself to wrap his arms around Taehyung’s waist and bury his face against his stomach. 

“You still love me, even after everything I’ve done?” He asks, words muffled in Taehyung’s shirt. 

“Yes, Jeon Jeongguk,” he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Jeongguk’s head,

“I love you.” 

———

As expected, Taehyung’s grandmother ambushes Jeongguk as soon as he steps into the house behind Taehyung, their fingers loosely interlocked. Jeongguk takes it well, easily answering all of her pestering questions. 

“Halmeoni,” Taehyung says when she pauses to take a breath, “Perhaps we shouldn’t interrogate our guest on his first visit.” Jeongguk looks down and tries to hide a smile behind his chopsticks. “After all, he is a general.” Taehyung reaches under the table to find Jeongguk’s hand and squeeze it. “The youngest general in the history of Korea, in fact,” he says nonchalantly as his grandmother gasps and her eyes widen to the size of saucers. “You told me a long time ago that it would be nice if I met that handsome young officer,” he slides a glance to Jeongguk, who is still grinning with a faint blush on his cheeks. “I worked so hard to do so, we don’t want to drive him away when I’ve just gotten him back!” He leans back and dramatically touches a hand to his forehead, like he’s about to faint from the effort that Jeongguk requires. His parents and Jeongguk snicker, but Halmeoni looks quite convinced, nodding her head solemnly and reaching out to pour more tea in Jeongguk’s cup. 

After supper, Jeongguk and Taehyung announce that they’re going for a stroll in the woods. They walk side by side, their hands hanging loosely and hesitantly brushing at each other’s fingers every so often. It’s quiet, but it isn’t uncomfortable. There are a lot of unspoken questions and words hanging in the air between them, but both men are content to leave them be and simply enjoy each other’s presence. 

“This is my favorite place, you know,” Taehyung murmurs once they reach his usual spot in the trees. They stop and Jeongguk turns slowly to look around, the soft moonlight filtering down on his face and shoulders. 

“It’s quiet, no one to bother or judge me here,” Taehyung whispers, looking down at his feet. Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow slightly and he steps forward to gently take Taehyung’s hands in his own, bringing them up to his mouth to kiss them. Taehyung’s heart flutters in his chest, and he can’t help the little smile that tugs at his lips. 

“I can’t pretend to understand,” Jeongguk says against his knuckles, looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything, Tae, for all that you’ve gone through.” His eyes are sad and genuine, and Taehyung’s chest feels tight as he frees one of his hands to brush against Jeongguk’s cheek. 

“All of that time when I was so alone,” he breathes, running a thumb over Jeongguk’s bottom lip, “All of the hateful words and tears,” Jeongguk closes his eyes and his eyebrows pinch together. “I say they were worth it,” Taehyung murmurs as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Jeongguk’s lips, “Because all of it has led me to you.” 

Jeongguk lets go of his wrist and wraps his arms around Taehyung’s neck then, pulling him closer and kissing him with fervor. There’s so much regret and sorrow in the kiss that it nearly tastes bitter, but Taehyung takes all of it and throws it to the wind. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jeongguk repeats against his lips, and Taehyung moves his hands to his shoulders and digs the pads of his fingers into the fabric covering them. Jeongguk tilts Taehyung’s face into his neck and brushes his lips over his nape, the touch light and almost hesitant. “I hurt you here once,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the tiny scar from his own blade that cuts across the soft skin.

“You did,” Taehyung says, pulling away just enough to look into Jeongguk’s eyes. “I’ve forgiven you. I don’t want you to hold this over your own head forever,” he says earnestly, slipping a hand up into Jeongguk’s hair. “What’s done is done, don’t apologize again for things that don’t need to be between us anymore.” 

Jeongguk opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but he closes it after a second and nods. 

“I love you so much,” he says like a vow against Taehyung’s lips, and then his neck, his chest and stomach. He repeats it over and over against Taehyung’s bare skin as he takes him apart with his mouth, slowly until Taehyung is trembling and digging his teeth into his fist to stay quiet. He comes with his fingers wound tightly in Jeongguk’s hair and his name on his tongue as he wills his knees not to collapse. 

Afterward, they lay down in the grass side by side and look up at the stars through the tree branches, their fingers lazily tracing over each other’s palms, basking in the silence and the presence of each other until it’s time for them to return home.

“Will you let me paint you?” Jeongguk murmurs as they’re walking, his tone almost nervous. Taehyung turns and looks at him with surprise, he had forgotten that Jeongguk likes to paint. 

“I could,” he says, “If you think I’m a worthy subject.” 

Jeongguk hums a soft laugh and reaches out to take Taehyung’s hand in his. “I think that there has never been a more worthy subject than you, Kim Taehyung.”

———

Jeongguk sighs in contentment as he strokes a soft pink line over where Taehyung’s lips will be. He pauses for a moment and lowers his brush to his lap, lifting his gaze to his subject. Taehyung might think that he’s only studying him for artistic purposes, but really, he’s enamored by the boy’s beauty more every second he looks at him. They’re in the forest again, dappled rays of sunlight falling softly over Taehyung’s shining hair and tanned skin. He’s wearing a simple tunic, but it’s tied so loosely that it falls over one of his shoulders and exposes his collarbones. The spring cherry blossoms add splashes of pink and red to the background, but Jeongguk thinks that their beauty pales in comparison to Taehyung. He has one of the flowers tucked behind his ear, its rosy petals brushing delicately against his cheekbone and nestled in his hair. Jeongguk smiles to himself at the serene expression Taehyung is wearing, almost like he’s about to fall asleep. 

Jeongguk dips his brush into a pink pigment similar to that of the flower and lays a gentle stroke of it over Taehyung’s cheek, making his penciled image blush to match the petals. He loses himself in the brushstrokes, in trying to perfect his painting of an angel. _His_ angel. He’s made sure to accurately portray Taehyung’s hair, long enough to fall softly to his shoulders, so pure and white it’s almost glowing in the sunlight. He bites back another smile as he thinks of how far the two of them have come. 

He’s been named as a reserves officer. After several long months of work and responsibilities in his new position, he had managed to take a step back and tell his father that he required some time away from the military. He had emphasized how honored and humbled he was, but that he needed some rest to be able to do his job to the best of his abilities upon returning. He’s proud of himself for having the courage to do so, especially when he hadn’t known if Taehyung would accept his apology or if he would be sent away and have to find something to occupy his time until going back. Only a year ago, Jeongguk would never have been able to find it in himself to ask for time away, or to even speak to his father about his position when it already felt so precarious in the first place. Perhaps it was always just the voices of jealous people and his own insecurities that convinced Jeongguk his status wasn’t earned, something he hadn’t ever questioned until recently. It had been a constant nagging thought in the back of his mind that he didn’t deserve to be what he was, a thought so persistent that it blended into the background and became a part of his life. Only now, as an experienced general, does he feel like he can step into his position with full confidence and shoulder the responsibilities given to him without doubts. 

He chuckles softly, adding a shadow beneath Taehyung’s jawline. He’s never told Taehyung how big of a part he’s played in his story, that this boy who was called a curse is his savior and his reason to keep on fighting until he succeeds. And in the end, it truly was Taehyung who had handed victory to him in the palms of his hands. Without him, the battle would’ve been lost and the Capitol would’ve been taken. Maybe this should make Jeongguk feel even more doubtful of his own achievements, but it doesn’t. He’s proud of Taehyung, and he’s also proud of himself, of the work he put into his men that gave them the ability to prevail. He thinks it’s fair to give himself credit for making loyal, dutiful soldiers out of his men. 

“My love,” Taehyung says, snapping Jeongguk out of his thoughts, “What are you thinking so hard about?” 

Jeongguk stares at him dreamily for a moment, letting himself soak in every ounce of Taehyung’s beauty. He smiles and dots a tiny mole under Taehyung’s eye, one at the tip of his nose, on his upper lip. He thinks he’ll have to kiss each one of them when there’s not an easel standing between them. 

“I’m just thinking about how much I love you.” 

  
  


———

  
  


Weeks later, they’re in the same spot in the trees, with Jeongguk leaning up against a trunk, Taehyung’s head in his lap. There’s gentle flecks of light filtering through the leaves, over the ground and dotting their bodies. Taehyung’s hair is down from its bun, flowing across Jeongguk’s thighs as he runs his fingers through it lovingly.

“Do you really love me?” Jeongguk asks, his voice small and quiet. The question has come up several times over the last few weeks, but Taehyung will answer it the same way each time until Jeongguk believes it. 

“Yes, I love you.” 

“More than all these people who bring you expensive gifts and have lots of land and horses and nice clothes and jewelry they could give you?” 

Taehyung shifts slightly in Jeongguk’s lap so that his nose is pressed against his stomach, keeping his eyes closed and sighing softly. “Yes, my love. I love you more than all of their wealth combined, because the only gift I ever need is you.” This seems to satisfy Jeongguk, at least until the next time he repeats the same question. 

It’s quiet again, the only sound the gentle rustling of the leaves overhead and the harmonies of the birds. Taehyung is very close to dozing off when Jeongguk speaks again. 

“I have a confession,” he murmurs, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What’s that?” Taehyung asks, opening his eyes sleepily to look up at Jeongguk, who stares down at him with so much adoration and love in his eyes that it makes Taehyung’s chest ache.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” Jeongguk whispers, curling a piece of Taehyung’s hair around his index finger, “Even from the first day I saw you, when you tripped in that parade and embarrassed that poor girl.” He chuckles softly, and Taehyung brings his hands up to cover his blushing face with a groan. “Yes, I remember that. Of course, I didn’t know it was you then, and I couldn’t face the fact that I was attracted to you, but I always was.” He slides his finger down to caress Taehyung’s temple, a grin tugging at his lips and revealing the tiny dimple that dips into one cheek when he smiles a certain way. He leans over and kisses the crown of Taehyung’s head, humming beneath his breath. 

“I have always wanted and will always want you, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if you’ll let me.” 

Taehyung stays still for a moment, looking up into Jeongguk’s eyes and feeling his own smart with tears. He sits up just enough to connect their lips, cradling Jeongguk’s cheek in his palm as they kiss, softly and full of love. 

“I think I like that idea, Jeon Jeongguk.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!! Thank you so much for reading this fic, I poured my heart and soul into it and my lovely beta devoted so much of her time to making sure it was as good as it can be. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> We are in the process of writing a short Yoonmin side fic to go with this one, it will be posted when it is finished. 
> 
> My twitter is @vkdawntae if you want to see moodboards, feel free to look at those if you want to see a little bit of what my brain was thinking while writing this fic. 
> 
> Thank you again for your support, it means the world to me!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Author’s note: Thank you all so much for your kind and supportive comments! I wish I could respond to them all, but know that I read every one of them and they all warm my heart. I’m so grateful for all of your love!!!


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